Good Company
by nikonian
Summary: What could possibly happen when the four Musketeers have to be on the road for a longer period of time, guiding a criminal back to Paris? A combination of brotherhood, fluff, angst, a lot of trouble, comical relief, drunk Athos and fish. No slash. Set after finale. Contain spoilers. (Started as a fluff-story but I got bored, so now everyone is angsty and hurting, wops!)
1. Chapter 1

_**Hey!** Nope, I don't own anything. And this idea came to me after watching Xena, "A Day in Life" (S02E15) thinking the Musketeers probably have a bit of fun on their journeys. I hope you'll enjoy it. I don't have anyone to beta for me, but please point out my mistakes as English is not my first language :) _

_**And oh, horses names…** 'Roger' we know is the name of Tom Burke's horse, probably not Athos'… But I like it. And 'Buttercup' is a skinny, roan draft horse … But I like it. And I read some story where Aramis calls his horse 'Belle'… And I like that too. So now, what is Porthos' horse called?_

* * *

**Good Company**

_"I ponder on the lesson of_  
_My life's insanity_  
_Take care of those you call your own_  
_And keep Good Company."  
-_ Queen.

"Are we there yet?"

Athos turned slightly in the saddle, sending his younger comrade a cold stare that could make any man lose their words. But it didn't seem to be helping with d'Artagnan. For the last hour or so, the same phrase had been uttered more than a dozen times.

"You can stare all you want, Athos, but if you gave me a proper answer I might stop asking."

Athos rolled his eyes quietly, turning in his seat, moving his gaze back in front of himself. He eyed the quiet woods, the wide path they had been on for what felt like an eternity, the trees that all looked the same. The bushes on his left looked familiar… Were they riding in circles? Again?

"We should've stopped and asked someone for directions."

"I'm not lost." He quickly responded to Aramis' voice behind him.

The bellowing laughter of Porthos that followed, joined in by Aramis and d'Artagnan, was like a cruel statement that none of them believed in him. Well, Athos might be lost, but he would never give up his pride just to commit that. He would find the right path sooner or later. Right now he had given his stallion Roger free reins, hoping that the horse had better sense of direction than he did. Horses usually did. But then again… If Roger had a good sense of direction, they shouldn't have gotten lost in the first place.

A tug on the ropes tied to his saddle made him look over his shoulder, and Roger halted. Bastien Travert, the mad criminal who had pillaged and plundered his way through France, and whom they had been escorting from Saint-Nazaire for the last couple of days, had stopped in his tracks, digging the heels into the dirt like an anchor. Even though Roger had stopped, didn't mean d'Artagnan's slightly-more-clumsy horse Buttercup would stop. Not really aware of her surroundings, her wide, black chest smacked straight into Bastien's back, knocking him down on his knees. Only then did she stop, to take a step backwards and lowering her head, wondering what had blocked her path. D'Artagnan himself leaned forward, his arms resting on the pommel of the saddle, looking down at the man on the ground.

"What now?" Athos asked as he turned Roger sideways, as Bastien scrambled to his feet, wiping the mud off his hands towards his trousers, looking with betrayed eyes back at Buttercup.

"You might be comfortable on your horses, but my feet are tired, and I know that we passed this place at least twice. The road is long enough from Saint-Nazaire to Paris, even when you're not walking in circles. I promised to follow you without trouble, but it is growing to become ridiculous."

Athos looked apathetically at the man tied in four different ropes down on the road, before looking up at his three brothers. They were all smiling amused.

"I'm not lost. I've travelled these roads a hounded times," Athos sighed, but then added before anyone could interrupt him. "But this seems like a good place to stop at. There's a clearing in the trees up there, and if my ears are not mistaken, there should be a stream nearby. Why don't we stop for a moment to eat, and Aramis, while we set up, you could scout for us?"

"Meaning, you sit down to rest and I go and see if I can find the right path out of here?"

Aramis gave Athos one of his gleaming smiles, before urging his mare Belle on before his leader had time to give him an answer. He handed Athos the rope holding Bastien, and pushed Belle into a canter, disappearing down the path.

* * *

Upon Aramis return, the other had settled up in the long grass, still soft after last night's early spring rain. Bastien was tightly tied to a tree, but still given enough room to move so he could eat with his tied hands.

A small fire was raging in the centre of the three men who were sitting down in the grass. D'Artagnan was cleaning his rapier, as Porthos was cooking some fish over the flames. It was usually Aramis job to do the cooking, but Porthos was at least better than the young and inexperienced d'Artagnan, and definitely better than the former _Comte_ that would get everything served on silver platter. The latter man was rummaging through his saddlebag; his puffy white shirt and trousers sprawled across the bum of Roger, drying in the sun.

Aramis rode up next to him, smiling as he dismounted. "Why are you so wet?"

Athos looked up at him while pulling dry trousers out of his saddlebag. "I caught us some fish."

"You know, you can always remove the clothes before you get into the water, so you don't have to hang them to dry after." Aramis pointed out with a smirk, having a slight feeling that Athos had ended up in the water faster than he had intended. In this group, it happened now and again.

Athos decided not to answer, instead he just laced up his spare trousers and put his hands on his hips. The silver locket dangled against his bare skin. "Did you find another path?"

"Yes." Aramis smiled, while undoing Belle's girth to give her some room to breath, and tying up the reins under her throatlatch to make sure she didn't accidentally step on the reins and hurt her mouth while he let her graze of the fresh grass. He then joined Athos for the walk up to the fireplace, where Porthos handed them both some smoked fish.

"Well?" Porthos asked as Aramis sat down next to him.

"The road divides about a mile up, we've been going left both times we passed there, but if we go right instead… Voilà, the road to Paris."

All eyes moved to look at Athos, who seemed to be extremely occupied with the fish in his hands at this very moment. They all laughed it off, they knew he would never, ever commit to being lost, no matter how apparent it was.

* * *

After they had eaten and relaxed for a bit, they all went back to their horses, and Athos got dressed again, as his clothes had dried nicely towards Roger's summer coat. While his head and arms were flailing somewhere inside the linen sweater, he heard the distinct noise of a dagger being drawn from someone's scabbard, and feet approaching his own. Knowing his dagger was still hanging over his saddle with his other weapons, he did a run-through in his head how to deal with it. He had a slight feeling as to who would be pulling a dagger at him while unprepared, and why the others were not there to defend him.

Popping his head out of his sweater, his hands still in the sleeves, he spun around and grabbed the hand holding the blade aimed at him, twisting it while spinning around in a swift motion, grabbing a hold of the neck of his attacker, and shoving him roughly face first into the thick leather of his heavy saddle. Roger huffed but didn't move as d'Artagnan jumped away, rubbing his chin. That would probably leave a mark. Athos gave him a tiny, faint smile, while handing him the dagger back, before grabbing his leather jacket and pulled it over his shoulders.

"One day he will hurt you Athos." Porthos grinned as he put the foot in the stirrup and jumped up on his horse.

"Still, never going to happen." Athos said dryly before putting the hat on his head, and heaving himself up on Roger, looking back at d'Artagnan who had a sour look upon his face as he got himself up on Buttercup.

"Just wait for it Athos. One day I will get you."

Athos sent him another dry smile, just a slight curve of the lips, before urging Roger past him.

Athos and Aramis rode up next to each other, both of them wanting to lead the way, but not going to let the other one do it. Deciding that it would be best with both of them up there, they both gave up the fight after a couple of minutes to ride in silence. Bastien was once again walking in between the four horses, with the four different ropes tied to hands and waist.

Porthos and d'Artagnan settled in the back, looking at each other before Porthos begun to whistle.

D'Artagnan soon joined the happy tune, and of course it didn't take long before Aramis let out a tune to whistle along with his friends. Athos scowled at the sound from his friends, and once again his hand began rummaging through his saddlebag, pulling up one of the bottles of wine he had hidden among his garments. Popping the cork he allowed the thick, red liquid wash down his throat. As he was putting the bottle back into the bag, he realized the whistling had quieted down. Looking over at his friends, he was met by confused looks.

"What now?"

"You have wine and you haven't shared it? We've been on the road for a week and a half!" Porthos growled.

"You've had wine."

"At the inns we've stopped at. But you… you have it in your bags!"

"Gentlemen. We've been brothers for many years. I thought by now you would know I always carry wine."

Porthos looked for a moment like he was about to protest, but then realized that Athos was right. He should know by now. They knew each other well enough. And Athos was never really sober. So instead of pressing the issue – but of course planning on stealing the bottle at their next stop – he shrugged his shoulders and begun whistling again.

He was soon joined by Aramis and d'Artagnan's whistling voices again, as the caravan turned right as the path divided.


	2. Chapter 2

**Two**.

"It's getting dark, we should try and find some shelter for tonight."

"Do you think it will rain?" Aramis asked, looking up at the sky where dark clouds were rolling in as the sun was fading in the west.

"Most likely. It always seems to be raining whenever we can't find any shelter." Athos sighed, really not fond of riding, nor sleeping, in the rain. He preferred the scabby beds of the various inns located alongside the dirty roads. The majority of them had roofs and four walls. And every single one had wine. They were after all in France, thank God.

"Speaking of that."

At the sound of d'Artagnan's voice behind them, they all looked up to be met with a very welcoming sight – a small inn, but there was smoke coming from the chimney, and lights flickered in the windows. The four men rode up to it, and as Aramis, Porthos and Athos took care of their captive, d'Artagnan led all the horses into the barn by the back of the inn. He was glad these horses were all so easy to handle, he knew that if he led one or two of them, the others would just follow.

He found the stable boy who helped him untack the horses, and brush them off, checking their feet and making sure they all had plenty of hay and fresh water in their buckets. He dug in Aramis' saddlebag for carrots that he handed out to all the horses, before grabbing all of their stuff, and making his way to the inn.

He had barely made it inside before the sky opened up a mad rainfall over their world. D'Artagnan stopped in the door for a second, impressed with what kind of luck finally settled over them. With a big smile on his face, he turned around to meet the stone-face of Athos.

"What? Oh please Athos… Don't tell me they don't have any rooms? Really? Well, I can sleep in the bar, or maybe with the horses…"

"Well, they do. But they only have one. We all have to share."

D'Artagnan rose his eyebrow in questioning, wondering why this was so bad. They were all dry, inside a house heated by several fireplaces, and from what he could tell by the bottle in Athos hand, they had wine to serve as well. It couldn't be that bad sharing a room with his three best friends… and a criminal described in the lower world of France as 'completely mad.'

* * *

A couple of hours passed, filled with wine, card games and Aramis with a woman in his lap, the musketeers made their way up into their bedroom to try to get a few hours of sleep. Well, at least three of them, as Aramis was nowhere to be found anymore. They weren't worried though. They knew very well he was somewhere in the area, considering the beautiful lady was missing as well. And with the rain and wind still going strong outside, he wouldn't have gone far.

Entering the room, they were pleased that Bastien was still tied properly to the corner in the room, lying down on some blankets, seemingly sleeping deeply. Walking for hours each day seemed to have tired him out all right, and he had been sleeping like a babe each night they put him down for his rest. His hands and legs were still tied, and no one had ever gotten out of Athos' knots before.

Porthos crawled into bed, and d'Artagnan looked with a raised eyebrow in question to how they would all fit in that small bed. Porthos himself took half of it. Deciding it was better to get into the comfy bed straight away though, while there was still room, he crawled his way down under the blanket, the heat of Porthos immediately present.

Athos smiled as he sat down by the small table in the room, popping the cork of another bottle. His feet up on the vacant chair in front of him, he leaned back in his seat and enjoyed the bottle in his hand. D'Artagnan couldn't help but to wonder which bottle that was. The third? Fourth? He knew Athos drank a lot but this felt excessive.

Porthos hand was suddenly on his shoulder.

"Don't worry 'bout Athos. He sleeps better with the wine."

"Yeah, but…"

"No, let 'im go." Porthos sighed, leaning his forehead towards d'Artagnan's shoulder. It only took him a couple of minutes to drift off to sleep. The second his breathing evened out as he drifted off to the land of dreams, his mouth opened slightly and some of the loudest snores d'Artagnan had ever heard in his life was suddenly tearing at his eardrums.

Jumping slightly, not prepared to that loud noise, d'Artagnan sighed heavily. How was he supposed to be sleeping with that ogre rumbling next to him? Always looking to his leader for guidance, he saw Athos with a smirk, holding out a bottle in his direction.

D'Artagnan was out of bed in a moment, Porthos snores pausing for a second to let out a whimper as the extra heat disappeared. D'Artagnan stopped and looked over his shoulder as the snores stopped, but ended up sitting down on a hard chair next to Athos, happily drinking straight from the bottle.

No words were uttered, and no words were needed as the two men passed the bottle back and forth between them. Athos was deep in thought, his mind seemingly miles and miles away from the little inn, and d'Artagnan couldn't help but to feel sorry for him. He was beating himself up a lot more than any man ever deserved to do. But he also knew that pressing the matter wouldn't help.

After everything had gone down with them shooting each other and Milady's departure, Treville had sent them on this mission. He had told them that they were the best suited for the job, they were the finest of the regiment and Bastien was no one who should be handled lightly. But all four of them were positive that Treville had sent them just so they could have two weeks on the road to clear their heads. He had told them to take their time, told them to tire Bastien out before arriving to Paris so he wouldn't make too much of a fuss.

All of them knew Treville was sending them on a calm mission because holidays didn't exist in their books. This was as close to it as any of them would ever come.

Athos let his head fall back as the last drops from the bottle hit his tongue. D'Artagnan could already feel his head turning faster than his eyes, remembering how bad he was at holding his wine. Especially that thick, red wine that Athos preferred. It went straight to the youngster's head.

Athos had noticed, and he nodded towards the sleeping thunderstorm in the bed. "Now maybe the noise will subside."

"Yeah, I think the ringing in my ears will drown him right out." D'Artagnan smiled happily, as he moved back to the bed.

He jumped back in underneath the covers, and was immediately manhandled by Porthos who appreciated the body heat returning, and he was not about to let it go again. This time he wrapped his big arms around d'Artagnan's upper body, pulling him close and snoozing down his nose into the crook of d'Artagnan's neck. That position eased out the snoring, at least a bit, and d'Artagnan drifted off to sleep.

Athos watched them for a long while, before pulling up another bottle. He sat with the bottle in hand for a while, just staring at the green glass of it. He could see his reflection – blurry, but there. He didn't want to see, he didn't want to remember. The last five years, his nightmares had been haunted by his wife hanging from the noose, his wonderful wife, killed by his orders. He had to uphold the law… But now… Now the dreams had been changed. He didn't see her in white anymore, standing on the cart with the blue forget-me-nots in her hands. He didn't see Remy put the noose around her neck, her black curls getting caught underneath it. Oh, Remy. She killed him too.

No he didn't see her underneath the tree anymore. His dreams had taken a turn to the manor, hot flames licking the walls, smoke filling up the rooms that once had held his life, his past disappearing in escalating flames. And there she was, in the middle of it all. Just standing there, holding a torch. Dressed in red and black. Everything was blurry, he couldn't see straight, his mind and senses disobeying him as he had been drinking excessively. Everything was spinning dangerously, the flames licking his feet and arms, the ground disappearing underneath him, the house collapsing on top of him as his life passed him by.

And as he stared at the woman he still loved with every single piece of his broken heart, she raised her hand, and moved the band around her neck to show the permanent scars he had given her. 'The token of your love.'

He did love her. He never stopped loving her. But it was his duty to uphold the law… His duty… Duty…

"Athos?"

A rough hand on his shoulder shook him awake. When did he fall asleep? Athos sat straight in the chair, rubbing his face with his still glove-covered palm, before turning slightly, seeing Aramis leaning down against his shoulder, his hand grabbing Athos' left wrist.

"It was just a nightmare." Aramis said quietly, squeezing his wrist carefully. Only then did Athos notice that he was shaking. He wanted to wave Aramis off, he was not worthy of the affection Aramis was giving him so gently. He was ashamed. He was angry. Most of all, he was hurt.

Aramis had known Athos long enough to see the small changes of emotions. Therefore he let go of the trembling wrist he had been holding, and walked further into the room, placing his weapons on the chair, alongside with his jacket, which had been slung over one of his shoulders.

"You did the right thing you know." Aramis said quietly, not meeting Athos' teary eyes. "It was your duty."

'Shit, am I sleep talking now too?' Athos thought, but remained silent as he uncorked another bottle.

"I know you don't want to talk about it." Aramis continued. "But I hate to see you so damp, my dear friend. I wish you could allow the past to remain behind."

"She's still alive." Athos' voice was barely audible, specially not as it was being drowned out by Porthos' muffled snores.

"You did the right thing. You did the right thing both five years ago, and a week ago. You are an honourable, righteous man Athos, and I wish you could see that yourself. I know you keep looking back into the past, I know you see it every moment no matter if you're awake or not. I just wish you wouldn't look so hard. We should never forget what lies behind us, it shapes us to who we are. But… but maybe you need to start looking ahead."

Athos didn't say anything, but his eyes wandered from the bottle up to meet Aramis' dark eyes, full of concern and worry.

"I'm not going to push you. You can take all the time you need. Just know, when you do want to start walking forward, all of us will be right next to you to lead the way." Aramis smiled lightly, his hand waving over their friends still snuggling in the bed.

Athos remained quiet as he leaned back into the chair, drinking heavily from the bottle, as Aramis gave a small nod his way, before climbing into the bed, spooning up in front of d'Artagnan, a smiled curving on his lips as he dipped his nose into Aramis' long curls.

* * *

There's nothing quite like waking by the sound of a rooster right outside your window.

But it sure is effective.

There was a slight panic as everyone tried to get out of the tiny bed at the same time. D'Artagnan only remembered him and Porthos in the bed by the time he laid down, but now there were a lot more flailing arms and legs for it to be just the two of them.

Athos rolled down to the foot of the bed, trying desperately to grab the bottle he stashed down there before anyone would knock it over.

Aramis had already fallen out of the bed, and was now scrambling to his feet, in obvious search for his pistol.

Bastien was up on his feet, back pressed against the wall, eyes wandering trying to locate where he was and what the noise was coming from.

The initial shock had settled over the rest, and Porthos laid back in the bed, sighing heavily, as d'Artagnan rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, trying to keep them open and focused on Aramis who was swaying over to the window, pistol in hand.

"Leave it." Athos growled, sitting with the bottle in his hand.

"Whoever bred roosters to scream their necks off like that deserves a place in the darkest areas of hell." Aramis mumbled, aiming on the rooster who clearly was clever enough to be quiet for a while.

"You remember what 'appened last time you shot a rooster at that guesthouse. All people running, the screaming, the angry owner, my money disappearing to buy 'im a new one… It's not worth it."

Aramis still aimed at the rooster, but decided it was best to follow Porthos' words. He mouthed a quiet 'bang' before putting his pistol away, sighing as he looked around at his comrades. It was quiet the sight. Athos trying to get the buzz out of his head, Porthos laying back down to get some more sleep, d'Artagnan having no clue what to do, and Bastien at the other side of the room, his heart still pounding out through his chest wall.

Aramis grinned as he sat back down into the bed, putting his pistol away among his other things. D'Artagnan had leaned back so he was resting his back towards Porthos' stomach, breathing tiredly. Aramis moved back so he too was leaning towards Porthos, and he slid his fingers in underneath d'Artagnan's puffy shirt, finding the bandage still covering his ribcage, and mostly, covering the stitches to his side where Athos had shot him. He gently peaked under the bandage, seeing the stitches still neat and tight, but the skin around it slightly discoloured.

He wasn't surprised. It had been taken care of well enough at start, but d'Artagnan never had time to let it rest. He had been fighting, running and riding non stop since that day, and of course it was bound to get infected. Aramis had caught it early enough though, understanding what would happen to the wound taking that amount of pressure. Already a few days after, the miscolouring had been bad, and Aramis had kept it under close observation since then, helping to clean it and apply new salve to keep it cool.

"We should probably start moving." Athos sighed as he heaved himself out of bed stopping for a moment as his legs remembered to take his weight.

"Five more minutes…" Porthos mumbled tiredly.

"Then we might miss breakfast." Aramis said with a frown, and then let out a laugh as Porthos heaved himself out of bed without a minute to spare. Popping on his clothes before they even had time to blink, he was by the door before Aramis and d'Artagnan had even left the bed.

"Come on now! Let's eat, I'm starving." The big man said, as he disappeared out through the door.

* * *

The breakfast of the inn left a lot more to be desired, but they still left with their bellies full and happy. They went out into the stable, and found their horses happily nibbling some hay. There was a moment of silence as all the men looked over their horses, palpitated their backs and legs, feeling for soreness. All of the horses were a bit stiff from the long rides, but they were all in good shape and all the men nodded to each other before they tacked up their own mounts. Saddles and bridles, followed by saddle bags and weapons at the right places. Taking the horses outside, Athos put some coins into the hand of the stable boy as a thank you, before all of them mounted, and headed for the road.

They had been riding for about twenty minutes before Athos begun squirming in his seat.

"What is it?" Aramis asked, noticing Athos' discomfort.

"I have this feeling that we are forgetting something."

"Weird, I was just having the same feelin'." Porthos nodded.

They all reined in their horses to a halt, as they looked around puzzled at each other for a long, good minutes.

"Hey… Where's Bastien?" Athos suddenly asked, charging Roger around as if Bastien would be right behind him.

"Oh! You took him from the room?" Porthos asked, frowning.

"No, that was your job!" Athos frowned back, eyes meeting Porthos'.

"No, you said 'Got him!'"

"No, I _asked_ 'Got him?'"

"Athos, I am certain I heard you say that you got 'him."

"I remember what I said and I said no such thing since I didn't have him, now did I?"

Porthos got quiet for a moment before realizing they were now not only missing Bastien, but also d'Artagnan and Aramis. Looking up the road back towards the inn, he could see the two of them heading back towards the inn at a fast trot. Porthos and Athos hurried their horses to a trot as well, still nagging each other who were to blame. By the time they arrived back at the inn, Buttercup and Belle were waiting outside the main door. The two men reappeared a moment later with Bastien in the ropes between them.

"That's better. I knew we were forgetting something." Athos nodded, grabbing one of the ropes from Aramis as he turned around Roger ad starting to lead the way back to Paris. Coming up into a crossroads, he turned left, only to shortly after feel heavy tugging at the rope. Looking over his shoulder, he could see his fellow Musketeers and Bastien had all come to a stop, Aramis having a finger pointed to the road leading to the right.

"This way Athos, this way."


	3. Chapter 3

**Three**.

"I'm starving."

"It's only been a few hours since breakfast."

"So?" Porthos huffed, what did _that_ have to do with anything? He was still hungry. It was definitely time for pre-lunch. You know, the lunch before the actual lunch.

"We shouldn't be far from Le Plan d'Eau." Bastien said after a moment of silence. He was hungry too, having missed breakfast due to being forgotten, still tied in the room. He knew he was a captive, but the Musketeers were fair men. They wouldn't let him starve to death, at least not yet. Their mission was to bring him to Paris where he would face the court. From there on things would probably take a turn for the worse. That was, if they actually made it to Paris. Seemingly patient, he did have some things planned for his captors further up the road. Getting them in the right direction by now already seemed to be working fine. "If we just stay on this path, it should appear momen-"

Bastien didn't even have time to finish the sentence before Athos and Aramis in the front ad stopped their horses, both of them breathing out a shocked "wow!"

Bastien came up between Roger and Belle, as d'Artagnan and Porthos rode up next to them. The sight in front of them was fantastic. They had emerged from the trees straight out to a thin beach line, the white sand shimmering with the morning sunlight. The water of the lake laid perfectly still, the trees of the other side of it reflecting perfectly into the clear blue water.

They all paused for a good couple of minutes, just inhaling the beautiful nature France has to offer. Very few things can be compared to the beauty of nature untouched by man. It was not marked by thousands of feet walking up and down the paths every day. There were no left overs from other travelers, no old fireplaces, no old rubbish lying around. Yes, this was a good place to stop at.

They all dismounted, Athos grabbing Bastien by the neck and moving him towards the trees, just where the sand met a grassy patch in the shade. Seating him and tying the long ropes to the tree, Bastien still had a couple of yards to move around within, but no freedom. Aramis and d'Artagnan took care of the horses, leading them over to another grassy patch where they undid the girths some and strapped in the reins so the horses wouldn't step on them as they grazed. Porthos was already making a fire.

"Is it my turn to fish?" Aramis asked, already removing his jacket without waiting for an answer.

"Yup, I fished yesterday." Athos nodded, walking over to Porthos with some dry sticks.

"I the day before that." Porthos nodded, snatching two rocks at each other, the spark immediate at the force.

All three of them looked up at d'Artagnan who seemed very occupied with Buttercup's tail at the moment, and they all shared a laugh. They had asked him to fish a few days ago, and he had happily stepped out into the stream where the trout had literally been jumping out of the water. Still, an hour had passed and d'Artagnan hadn't caught a single one. Porthos has finally lost his patience and walked out to catch his own food. A man can only wait so long for lunch.

Aramis grinned as he removed his linen sweater, his boots, trousers and socks, until he was down to his breaches. The rosary and cross around his neck remained as always. He moved down towards the water, dipping his toes at first, but smiled to himself as the water was already getting warm from the sun's rays. He waded out into the water, leaned forward looking down into the water.

"Any suggestions on what you want for lunch?" He called over to his friends.

"Salmon please." Was Porthos answer, and Aramis rolled his eyes.

"Wrong water, wrong season."

"Then eel, please." Porthos laughed as Aramis sighed heavily. Why did he even bother asking? But just in that moment, his luck seemed to be changing, as an eel actually did swim just by his leg. With fast, precise and skilled movements, he managed to grab onto its slimy body, and before it would slip from his fingers, he threw it up towards the beach.

He hadn't intended for the eel to land straight into Porthos' face, but it sure was fun to see the big man panic as the eel bounced off his nose, fell into his lap, still twitching like mad. Porthos was at his feet in an instant, flailing his arms and screaming a high-pitched noise that made even Athos smile to the point where his teeth were showing. D'Artagnan was rolling on the ground, holding his stomach as he laughed to the point where he could barely catch a breath.

Porthos glared angrily towards his friend in the water, Aramis holding up his hands in innocence. "You said you wanted eel?"

"I will get you for that!" Porthos barged, his body still twitching in panic and disgust. He would get revenge. Oh, he would definitely get revenge.

He turned back to the fire where the eel lay in the grass, unmoving, when something hit him at the back of his head. Twirling around fast, a trout was twitching at his feet.

"Stop it Aramis! I'mma smell like fish for a week!"

Aramis had a great smile on his face as his hands were once again up in innocence.

"I'm sorry, my aim is not good."

"You have the best aim out of all of us." D'Artagnan laughed. "I've seen you shoot."

Aramis grinned even wider as he within the blink of an eye dove down with his hands, grabbing another trout and hauling it up towards his comrades. This time he had been aiming at Porthos' face, but the big man was surprisingly fast for his size. Reaching down, he grabbed a hat, and shielding himself with it, the fish landed splattering inside the hat. Porthos held it up proudly for Aramis to see.

Aramis looked pale. "Is… is that MY hat?!"

Porthos grinned happily as Aramis' hands covered his face. No, fish in leather was never good, the smell never left. Sighing heavily as he saw Porthos dump the fish onto the ground, tossing Aramis hat to the side, he sat down in the grass, continuing with the fire. He had a feeling Aramis wouldn't throw any more fishes into his face from now on. Aramis pouted as he continued catching fish, gathering a couple more to still their hunger, throwing them all and making them land in a neat pile at d'Artagnan's feet.

Aramis was leaned down over the water in an attempt to see and hear the fish better, without noticing that the cross around his neck, the beautiful gift from his beloved Queen, was dangling in the water due to the long chain. Aramis was yanked roughly by the neck as a fish grabbed onto the bait, liking the shimmering gold against the sunlight. Aramis face was pulled under water as he flailed while falling forward, his hands searching for something that would brace his fall, finding the mud of the lakes bottom, as he went down on his knees. Safe on his knees but still underwater, his hands searched for whatever was holding him down, and as the hands found the fish trying to swallow his beloved item, he punched it hard, making it stop pulling at it. He grabbed it with both hands and got to his feet, one hand wiping his face as he emerged from the water, as one hand was holding the treacherous trout.

The laughter from the beach was explosive and loud. The three musketeers had all gotten to their feet as Aramis had roughly been pulled down below the surface, not knowing what had happened and prepared to help out if he didn't re-emerge. He did do so a moment later though, with an angry look in his face, and a trout hanging from the chain around his neck.

Aramis tried to pull the trout off his cross, but it appeared to be stuck. Moving up towards his laughing friends, Athos handed him a knife with a smile as Aramis cut the fish open, before dropping it to the fire. He sighed heavily at how disgustingly slimy his beloved gift had become, and went back out into the water to wash it off as Porthos calmed his laughter to starting to deal with the fish.

* * *

D'Artagnan was sneaking through the trees, careful as he walked on his toes, not wanting to scare off his hunt. He was going to get him this time. He had a stick in his hand, not wanting to use his sword… Just in case he actually managed to land a hit. He knew Athos was so confident in himself that he thought he could parry anything d'Artagnan threw at him, but if caught unaware… He had a chance. And he was going to win this bet against Aramis.

They had made the bet after that time they had been away with Queen Anne a few months ago. When they had been to that lake, and Athos and Porthos had dragging him over the ground, Athos claiming he could never land a hit. Aramis had laughed and happily made the bet with d'Artagnan. And d'Artagnan was going to win this, he would land a hit on Athos, but he knew the man was great, and all of these guys had a sixth sense when it came to knowing danger to be approaching. That just made it a whole lot more difficult.

But now… He had him. Athos was resting in the shade as Porthos and Aramis was happily playing in the water, throwing a stick back and forth between them while allowing the water to cool them off. The sun was high and the approaching summer heat was very evident in the air. Athos on the other hand was no one for games, and he was lying with his head resting towards a fallen log, his leather jacket rolled up underneath him along with his weapons, his hat over his face. D'Artagnan doubted that he was sleeping, because Athos rarely slept, but he was definitely relaxed.

He was so close now, so close. He was just a couple of feet away from Athos, lifting the stick up, prepared to strike a blow towards his sleeping mentor. So close…

He had not expected Roger to suddenly appear behind him, and being so focused on Athos, d'Artagnan didn't even hear the big, black stallion. All of a sudden d'Artagnan felt something hit him in the back and he went flying forwards, dropping the stick as he tried to brace his fall. He stumbled over the log and landed with a huff onto the ground next to Athos, his arms caught underneath his body, one of them awkwardly caught right against the healing wound in his side, hitting the grazed ribs with a little bit too much force.

The pain was immediate.

White blinding light hit his eyes, and loud ringing burst through his ears. For a moment the world around him seemed to have stopped, as he didn't notice anything going on. He didn't notice Athos' hands grabbing on to him, turning him on his back as he shouted for Aramis.

He didn't even hear the loud impact of Buttercup charging straight into Roger's side, determined to protect her master. And even the stoic Roger buckled under the force as Buttercup, at almost 1500 pounds, hit him square in the side with her wide chest. The force alone made Roger lose his balance, tumbling down on his side into the grass, as Buttercup reared up on her hindquarters, coming back down with her front hooves inches from him, with an angry snort. '_Do not do that again!_'

Buttercup then turned her back on the stallion, leaving him confused in the grass, as she walked over carefully towards the log, observing the men taking care of her master.

"D'Artagnan? Hey, can you hear me?" Athos said gently, the lad's head in his lap, carefully stroking away a few misplaced strands of dark hair.

Aramis was removing the bandages, wanting to have a look at the ribs and wound. Porthos was behind him, looking over his shoulder, waiting for whatever instructions Aramis had for him while observing his work. Aramis gentle fingers easily peeled off the bandage, his hands palpitating the injured area. The pain seemed to have subsided some, as d'Artagnan's breathing seemed to calm down, his eyes blinking open.

"Hey." Athos said gently, a hand on his sweaty cheek. "You okay?"

D'Artagnan nodded slightly, biting his lip. "Wasn't… prepared for that…"

"I apologise about Roger. He's a bit protective. But so is Buttercup. You should've seen the way she rammed him down into the ground." Athos smiled, looking over to his side where Buttercup stood with her head lowered towards the ground. Roger had gotten up behind her, shaking off the dirt as he walked away. _You can never trust a mare… Crazy, that's what they are…_

D'Artagnan smiled. Roger. So that was what had taken him out. He made a mental note of making sure Roger was nowhere near next time he tried to attack Athos. And he then added '_feed Buttercup carrots_' to his list.

He swallowed hard as a wave of pain went through him, as Aramis redid the bandage around his ribs.

"Sorry." Aramis said apologetically. "Feels like a rib or two are cracked, possibly broken. Wound looks okay though; all the stitches are still intact. I'm going to wrap these hard now, we'll ease up on them later, okay?"

D'Artagnan nodded. The pain was still there, but it was not as intense as it had been at first.

"Are you going to stop this nonsense now?" Athos asked, meeting d'Artagnan's eyes. "Before you kill yourself?"

"You are just scared that I'll hit you." D'Artagnan smiled weakly as Athos rolled his eyes, helping him up on his feet as Aramis declared himself done. Another wave of pain went through his bones as he tried to stand, Athos holding him in a tight grip, careful not to put any hands anywhere near the injured ribs, until d'Artagnan's breathing once again evened out.

"Stubborn lad." Athos sighed, easing on his grip to see if d'Artagnan could stand by himself. The youngster still had his eyes closed, but the colour was returning to his face. Athos held d'Artagnan by the shoulder at an arms length, as he looked up at Aramis, who were grinning widely. "You know it's your fault Aramis, you had to bet him."

"I betted against him, not against you." Aramis said with innocent, puppy eyes, bowing deeply. "My loyalty is with you, always, my good sir."

Athos rolled his eyes, before feeling someone gently push him aside. He released his grip on d'Artagnan and took a step away as Buttercup squeezed in between d'Artagnan and him. The mare gently sniffled her master's fingers, her soft muzzle coming down to meet his hands. D'Artagnan smiled, his hands coming up to scratch her forehead, just the way he knew she liked it. Her large head lowered as d'Artagnan's hands found her ears, and as he scratched them, her lips started flapping happily, her eyes closing.

The three men smiled pleased as they watched their youngster with his horse. They knew d'Artagnan had been with this horse since her birth, he had told them how he had found her dame panting on her side in a field, yellow by the large amounts of buttercup-flowers, a short distance from their farmlands. Charles D'Artagnan, only eleven years old at the time, had grabbed onto the tiny hooves and pulled the black foal out as the dame panted her last breaths. The pitch-black foal with the long legs was beautiful, nothing like the big, awkward draft horses they had at the farm.

The young boy had dried the foal off with grass as his father had found him. Alexander d'Artagnan had told his son the foal would never survive without his mother, and the boy had cried, not wanting to let it go. Alexander was a good man, not wanting to kill the foal, but not having time to raise a foal without its mother there to feed and care for it. What he saw before him was a test of his son's determination, and decided to let him try. He got a bucket and milked as much as he could from the dame, giving it to his son, who tried to get the foal to drink. He told his son to get as much as the colostrum into the foal, the first raw milk being terribly important for the babies. The rest of her milk, his cows could provide. Alexander then handed him a rope to bring the foal home with, before he left.

It had taken a larger part of the day and some part of the night to get the stubborn filly home to the farm, both young d'Artagnan and the filly soaking wet from sweat by the time they crashed into the straw bed Alexander had made for them. D'Artagnan managed to get some more milk that was left in the bucket, into the filly, before they both fell asleep in the straw together, exhausted. When Alexander had gone to check on them late that night, his son had been on his back with his arms under his head, and the filly resting her head across his stomach.

The two of them had been inseparable ever since. Young Charles had improved his riding skills as he had broken Buttercup under the saddle, which had been the easiest thing in the world. The other men on the farm had tried before him on his father's orders - a fourteen year old shouldn't break a horse. One by one the men had been crawling out of the coral as Buttercup had dumped them hard into the ground, before returning to d'Artagnan. When no one else dared to get up onto her, d'Artagnan let his hand stroke her neck, the long mane dripping with sweat, before he put a foot in the stirrup and heaved himself up onto her back. She didn't move a muscle until he asked for it, and with a big smile on his face he showed the older men how easy breaking a horse could be as long as you had their trust.

With time he had grown into a strong, tough adult looking for adventure, and Buttercup had grown into a stoic, elegant and powerful mare. The adventures the two of them got into were nothing short of madness, roaming the lands remote daily, before returning to their duties at the farm where they would work tirelessly, Buttercup pulling the wagons and plowing fields together with the other drafts. During their time at the farm Buttercup also gave birth to a foal herself, a filly named Anémone, which after d'Artagnan had cared for and broken her, became Alexander's horse.

It was Charles d'Artagnan and Buttercup against the world, when the tragedy happened. Alexander d'Artagnan was suddenly killed and Anémone stolen, the young rider and horse only had each other. D'Artagnan slept with his nose buried into the thick fur by her neck more than once, crying himself to sleep. He only had her. She only had him.

Until the day they had arrived to Paris, and all of a sudden, their little world had grown immensely.


	4. Chapter 4

_I'm going to borrow the name Zad for Porthos' horse, which is the actual name of the horse Luke Pasqualino is riding in the show. I'll borrow it for this cause all horses need a name! _

_Please review and let me know what you think! I write as I go on, ideas are very appreciated! _

_And oh. Prepare yourself :) _

* * *

**Four**.

"Right or left?" D'Artagnan asked as the road in front of them separated into two. Sun was coming down over the top of the trees, and they were all eager to find somewhere to sleep for the night. They had been on the road for 11 days now, and they were getting worn out. The pace was incredibly slow, and they knew they had at least another five days in this pace before they would make it to Paris. They had talked about getting a cart that one of their horses could pull, maybe they would save sometime, but these small paths wouldn't be able to fit a cart. Porthos had happily suggested they knock Bastien out, hang his body over one of the horses as they cantered for a while. Athos had not approved. They would just have to make due. At least they were getting there, they should be at least half way to Paris by now. If they chose wisely in this crossing.

"Athos, what do you think?" Aramis asked politely, moving Belle to stand next to Roger.

"I am not certain." Athos said quietly, looking down both roads. He had no clue whatsoever, and he was pretty sure Aramis knew that. But he played along. "But I would guess the right path."

"Good, that's settled then." Aramis grinned, asking Belle to walk again. "Left it is!"

The men behind him grinned, well not Athos of course, as they all followed him down the left path. They rode on for a few minutes, happily bantering about how you can always trust Athos' sense of direction – just go exactly opposite of what he is telling you and you'll be fine. Athos tried to defend himself, which was really difficult to do knowing Aramis was completely right. He had no sense of direction. He couldn't get the hang of maps. Thankfully he knew most of the roads from memory and so did his friends.

"Hey guys?"

They all stopped and turned at the voice belonging to d'Artagnan coming from behind them.

"What is that smell?" D'Artagnan wrinkled his nose. They were all smelly, the sun had been high all day until now, and he could feel the sweet trailing along his own spine. Wearing all these layers of clothes while the sun was up was not the greatest thing they all knew, but it was necessary. This wasn't the smell of sweat though… No, this was something else…

He turned to look at Aramis who was holding his hat with one hand, pulling his fingers through his hair with his other, then smelled them, his nose wrinkling in disgust as he smelled inside his hat.

"My poor, beloved hat." Aramis sighed, putting it back on his head. He would have to take care of that smell, it would most certainly ruin his reputation if he smelled like fish. There were some things women just simply did not like. His eyes wandered to Porthos, who had a big, wide grin splattered across his face. "It's not funny!"

"Oh but it is, ey." Porthos grinned.

"No, guys… I know Aramis smells like fish, that wasn't what I was thinking of. There's something else… There's something burning."

This made everyone tense up, all of their spider-senses working overtime trying to smell what d'Artagnan was sensing. And he was right. There was the smell of something burning.

Athos only had to send Aramis and Porthos a look over his shoulder, before the two men had left their ropes to their comrades, galloping at fast speed through the heavy vegetation.

It didn't take them too long before they heard the sounds of panic rising through the forest. And something was burning all right – a whole village to be exact. People were running, screaming, panting and crying in panic, as the wooden houses were aflame. Some people were desperately throwing whatever buckets filled with water that they could find, but it was to no use. The flames were hot and uncontrollable. Windows were shattered, people were crawling out of their front doors, collapsing at the doorsteps, their neighbors running out to help.

Porthos and Aramis called their horses to sliding halts, their mouths open at the sight in front of them. They were too late to save the village, but maybe they could help some of the people… Maybe they could tend to the wounded and…

Loud laughter made both their heads turn, and they laid eyes upon a pack of four men, three of them holding torches as the man in front carried bottles of what probably contained something flammable. They were all _laughing_ as they rode past the still untouched houses, throwing in a bottle, only to follow it with a torch. _Blam_, and another house was doomed.

Aramis and Porthos didn't have to talk. They shared a look before urging their horses to fast gallop again, sliding down the hill, straight into the village. The sound of them unsheathing their swords got the attention of the men, and by the time they turned around, our two Musketeers were all ready on top of them. One of the men with a torch was falling out of his saddle before he even knew what was coming, Aramis sword slashing him hard across his abdomen. Aramis rapier wasn't sharp enough along the edges to actually do any damage while slashing, but the force Aramis could lay into it was definitely enough to knock the man out of his saddle and leave him whimpering on the ground.

Porthos broadsword, '_Balizarde'_, together with the enormous force Porthos could swing it, on the other hand, could easily empty the content of any man's inside. He was swinging his sword dangerously towards the leader of the pack, who were looking at the sword in front of him, but not showing any worry. His eyes gazed behind Porthos, a smile spreading.

"Porthos!"

Athos' voice rumbled like thunder behind him, heard through the panicked screams and Aramis rapier clashing with another torchbearer. Porthos turned just in time as Bastien jumped up towards him, grabbing him, and with great force, pulling him out of his saddle before he had time to brace himself. His horse, Zad, stumbled, trying to keep his balance as the weight had shifted too suddenly, too roughly, but wasn't able to keep his feet steady as the big man dragged him down.

For a second there seemed to be hooves and legs and arms everywhere before Zad managed to gain control of his sprawling feet, and rolled off Porthos. Porthos had found the reins and as Zad stood he followed him up, allowing the big animal to pull him to his feet in the same time as he found his sword, bringing it up with him. He let Zad go, and turned. He was angry enough to the point where he would've probably not noticed if any body part had been missing, and now he turned around with anger radiating from his dark eyes, Balizarde twirling in the air. And he was growling, deeply and loudly, as he turned to face Bastien. The sight in front of him was nothing he had expected.

Aramis was in between him and Bastien. Bastien was sitting on a horse's back, the other four men on their horses behind him, all of them smiling happily, one of the men still holding a torch, one still holding a bottle. Athos and d'Artagnan was standing next to Porthos, Athos had one hand carefully on Porthos' shoulder, his other holding his rapier. D'Artagnan too was armed with the blade in one hand and his pistol in the other.

Aramis' hands were tied behind his back and Bastien had a firm grip of him with his left hand's fingers entangled into Aramis unruly hair, forcing his head back. With his other hand, Bastien held a dagger pressed towards Aramis jugular, the sharp blade brushing the sensitive skin by the neck, small drops of blood sliding down towards his chest. He was breathing lightly, carefully, not daring to take deep breaths in fear of his throat being split.

Treville's voice came rushing through his ears; '_Don't underestimate the man. He will slit your throat if he gets the chance_.'

Aramis met Athos' eyes, looking to his leader for help. Athos blue eyes didn't reveal anything to the untrained eye, but Aramis could see how Athos was frantically searching for a way to get out of this. Aramis realized that the words Treville had told them were most likely going through all of their heads at the moment. They all stood still, no one moving, no one daring to breath. No one said a word until Bastien did. He leaned forward towards Aramis ear, so close that his beard brushed against Aramis cheek, but his eyes locked with Athos'.

"I thank you for the good company. You men have been most honorable, treating me well even though I know I never deserved it. Therefore, I will not slit this sensitive throat, even though it's one of my favorite past times. But we must part, I have matters I need to tend to. So, farewell, my musketeers."

Everything after that happened fast. The dagger was removed from Aramis neck, but something hit him over the upper part of his back, and he tumbled to one knee. What was that? Liquid? Seconds later something bounced off his back, and he could feel a burning hot sensation trailing down his entire backside, spreading like wildfire. The heat was more intense than anything Aramis had ever felt before.

He heard a scream, and it took his brain seconds to recognize the voice as his own.

Before he knew it, Athos and Porthos were grabbing onto him, pushing him down into the grass and pushing him around. A knife freed his hands and he flailed in panic.

Had… Had Bastien just put him afire?

A gunshot was heard and one of the men galloping away fell from his horse. Unfortunately not Bastien, who waved his good bye to d'Artagnan who stood there angry, his smoking gun in hand.

"Aramis, hey, it's us!"

Aramis could hear Porthos voice roam through his head, but he couldn't comprehend the words, the meaning, all he could focus on was the burning heat to his entire backside. But something rough had grabbed onto his flailing wrists, and all off a sudden Athos was there, inches from his eyes.

"It's us. Let us help. Stop thrashing."

Aramis gave a small nod, and allowed himself be manhandled by Athos and Porthos as they roughly pulled at his clothes, needing to get him out of his smouldering doublet, something easier said than done due to Aramis belt, the blue fabric, and all those weapons covering him. Porthos literally grabbed onto the blue piece of fabric and pulled at it, having Aramis rolling out of it. Soon enough Aramis could feel his hands being pulled back as the hot leather slid off him, and he fell forward, putting his hands in the wet grass in front of him, coughing slightly, his vision spinning from being thrown around like a ragdoll along with the radiating heat. Gentle hands lifted his linen sweater, trailing over his back, as a large hard squeezed his shoulder.

"How does it look?" D'Artagnan asked worriedly, sheathing his sword and tucking his pistol away.

Athos looked a lot calmer than he had upon seeing one of his brothers covered in flames. "The fire didn't reach the skin. It's red and hot to the touch but no real bad burns. We'll use that salve he has for when I burn in the sun."

Aramis let out a small, relieved laugh. Every summer they would all get nice, dark suntans, while Athos turned into a red lobster with funny patterns. It never ceased to amuse everyone, except Athos of course who always pulled his hat down further below his eyes.

Aramis rolled over, sitting up leaning against Porthos' shoulder as he looked around. The village was still on fire, people were still running around, but houses collapsing had suffocated the screams. Athos was suddenly dragged back to what was happening around him.

"Okay. Here's what we do. Porthos and I will ride, see if we can figure out which direction Bastien went. In the meantime, do what you can here, tend to the wounded, and try to kill the fires. Don't overdo yourself." Athos said, nodding to Aramis and Porthos, before turning to d'Artagnan. "And that goes for you too."

D'Artagnan nodded, usually he would answer something like 'yes father', but now was really not the right time. Athos and Porthos nodded as they got up on their horses, and they were off at full speed. D'Artagnan helped Aramis to his feet, gently brushing the grass off him, as Aramis bent down to take his doublet and weapons he had been ridden off. He looked down at the leather in his hands, it was burned, but not burned through. He pulled it over his shoulders, it was still hot to the touch but definitely not as bad as it had been. He wrapped his blue linen around his waist, buckling his belt and weapons back in place. His back was sore, but it was no more than a hot, stinging sensation of bad sunburn.

Aramis looked up and met d'Artagnan's eyes, and he gave him a short nod and smile, walking up to him. D'Artagnan grabbed his chin in his hand and moved his head up a bit to a have a look at his neck, blood still evident on his neck. Aramis had already forgotten about how close he had come to losing his power to talk, but now his fingers moved up there, feeling the small cut under the tips of his fingers. It was nothing, he cut himself worse every time he shaved.

D'Artagnan didn't say anything, he just let go of Aramis chin and smiled lightly, Aramis nodding to him, before the two of them headed into the village, trying to lend a helping hand to whatever they could.

* * *

Night had fallen by the time Athos and Porthos came back to find Aramis and d'Artagnan still tending to the wounded. There wasn't much more that could be done, Aramis has stitched up several cuts, tended to the worst of the burns with his magic salves, as d'Artagnan had tried to help the villagers still standing with cleaning up in the village. The fires had all died out a long time ago, along with most of the screams. Not many had died, a few being caught in their houses, but the damage was mostly to the buildings, not the people.

Athos and Porthos rode up to d'Artagnan and Aramis in silence, Belle and Buttercup following Athos as he called for them. The horses trusted each other's masters, almost as well as their own.

They left the ruined village and were on their way, riding at a slow pace in the same direction Bastien had left for. They were all silent for quite the time before Athos spoke up.

"I'm sorry, Aramis."

Aramis twirled his head in his leader's direction, frowning. "Why?"

"I should've been able to keep Bastien under control. He caught me off guard. He jumped up onto Roger from behind me, and used my own dagger to cut the ropes. I'm sorry, I should've paid more attention to him."

"Don't apologise Athos. None of us were prepared for that. We didn't know he had anything to do with the fire, but since he knew those people I'm assuming he had the whole thing planned in case he would get caught." Aramis said grimly, riding up next to Athos. "We lost him, and it's not your fault. We all trusted that man a lot more than we should've. But we will find him. At the next village we reach we will send word to Treville. For now we will ride on for a few more hours, trying to get into the right direction, and stop if we need to."

"We should raise the speed some if we're not to give him too big of a head start." Porthos said, turning to look at d'Artagnan. "Can you handle that?"

"Gallop is fine, trot is not."

Porthos had a look over at Aramis as well, who nodded tiredly, before the four of them set off in an easy, but steady canter through the woods.

* * *

It was four very tired musketeers and four very tired horses that found lodgings many hours later. Leaving their horses to the stable boy, they all went inside to find a room with four, _four!,_ beds in it.

D'Artagnan was asleep before Athos had finished the first glass of wine. Porthos was asleep only moments later, enjoying sleeping in a bed, and sleeping in a bed all to yourself. They didn't mind each others company, but finally getting your own bed after quite the time, they were all cherishing it. Athos drowned his glass of red wine before helping Aramis out of his clothes as he saw the man struggle, not being able to stretch and reach his arms normally without wincing in pain. Athos pulled his doublet off him, and hung it over one of the chairs, before helping Aramis to wiggle out of the sweater. Aramis was exhausted by the effort, and sat down quietly on a chair, his front towards the backrest which he folded his arms on top of, leaning his forehead down to rest on top of his arms.

Athos grabbed some of the clean cloths they had gotten, dipping them into the cold water from the bucket standing next to him, before, very carefully, he cleaned off Aramis' back. Small blisters had started to form, the skin was still an angry red, slightly swollen and very hot to touch. Even though Athos was as gentle as he could, barely touching the skin and making sure not to put any pressure on it, Aramis was still flinching. Athos wasn't to worried about the actual burn, it was the size of it that worried him. They had all been scarred by fire once or twice, but never anything this large. Aramis entire back was swollen and red, everywhere from up in between his shoulder blades, down to the lower back.

"It's fine Athos. It will be." Aramis said tiredly. He didn't want anything more than to just go to bed. "Get me my bag will you?"

Athos didn't say anything, but put the cloth back into the bucket, and went over to get Aramis' bag, handing it to him. Aramis pulled out a small glass jar, containing some white mass, which he handed to the man behind him. Athos unscrewed the lid and recognized the scent straight away. He wasn't sure _what_ it smelled, he couldn't pinpoint the scent, but he knew that was the way he used to smell half of the summer after Aramis had dealt with his skin. Now the table had been turned as Athos took a rich amount of the cream onto of his fingers, and gently applied it all over Aramis' back.

The effects were immediate as Aramis exhaled relieved, the cool salve doing wonders for his pain. Athos smiled as he put the jar aside, pulling Aramis' shoulders to get him to sit up, handing him the bottle of wine from the table. Aramis drank several long mouthfuls before putting the bottle down, patting Athos' shoulder as thanks, before laying down on his stomach in the bed he had claimed as his.

Athos emptied the bottle, and two more, before he managed to get into the bed left untouched. He was exhausted, but his nightmares would never let him rest. It wasn't just his wife in front of him anymore, with the fire licking the walls and the torch in her hand. Now he turned in the manor to see Aramis there as well, his body covered in flames and his scream echoing down the long, empty hallways.


	5. Chapter 5

_Thank you so much for your support guys! I never really planned for it to go this way, it was just meant to be all fluff, but I just can't help myself… Anyway, I've been working like crazy trying to put this together before the weekend, which I'll be spending away from my computer, enjoying the Swedish summer heatwave (which is rare!) by the beach together with my best friends and so much wine it would make Athos jealous. And of course, my hat. _

_I hope you enjoy this! _

* * *

**Five**.

Every single one of the Musketeers woke up the next morning with a moan of pain. Athos woke first, having not slept more than an hour without having one of his dreams. He reached for the bottle he left next to his bed, as his normal ritual. More wine always helped his hangover. _The eye opener_. He sat up in the bed, rubbed his face with his hand before having another mouthful of the wine. Looking over at his friends, he really wanted to let them sleep longer, but they had to get moving if they were to catch up with Bastien before he reached the Spanish border. If he did get there, he would be out of their reach, and they would probably lose him forever.

He decided he could let his brothers sleep a little while longer while he prepared breakfast, so he donned his clothes, while stopping now and then to get some more wine down his throat, before he walked downstairs to the kitchen to find the chef.

The tiny little woman with the big smile who had greeted them with open arms last night was already up, baking bread in the kitchen together with a young man.

"Good morning." She greeted, Athos nodding his reply. "Was the room to your comfort?"

"Very much so, _madame_. I'm here to inquire about breakfast, we haven't eaten in many hours, and we yet have many hours in the saddle. I'm wondering what you have to spare for us? I will happily pay whatever you see feasible."

The woman smiled as she went to get a tray. "Oh you Musketeers, I bet you have a great appetite. Strong men like you. Let me pick some together for you, and hopefully it shall last you for a while on your journey."

Athos smiled as he sat down to wait, and not too long after, the woman handed him a tray with everything he could've asked for. Bread in different variations, cheese, roasted ham, fruit, vegetables, and boiled eggs. A jug that smelled delightful of pressed oranges accompanied it all, together with a jug of fresh water.

Athos brought the tray upstairs, and walked around the beds to wake them all up, starting with d'Artagnan who moaned loudly as he rolled over, his hands going to his side already before his eyes opened. Athos fingers gently peaked underneath the bandage, finding the boys ribcage shifting in the colours of the rainbow, but the stitched wound looking better than hoped.

"Good morning d'Artagnan." Athos said quietly. "There is breakfast on the table, I suggest you dig in before I wake Porthos up. How are you feeling?"

"Oh please don't ask." D'Artagnan sighed as he said up, his hand carefully holding his ribs as he got out of bed, swaying over to the table to have something to eat.

Athos didn't say anything, instead he walked over to Porthos, giving him a rough shake by the shoulder. The man growled, as he threw the blanket off himself. Athos hadn't even realized how bruised Porthos' body was, most part of his left side seemed to be covered in bruises from what Athos could see, which was to expect after having Zad roll over him. They had all ended up underneath their horses a couple of times, and it was usually not as bad as it looked, as long as the horse was spread over a bigger area. When the horse fall and roll over you, it's spreading out its weight, making very little damage to the fragile human body. The real pain comes from when just a part of the horse – a knee, a hoof – comes falling down over you to hit a small area of your body. Concentrated force. That's when bones shatter.

Athos jerked Porthos' shoulder again, and the man answered with another growl.

"There is breakfast on the table." Athos said gentle, which made Porthos eyes pop open. It worked like a charm every time.

The big man heaved himself up, stretching carefully and moaning against his sore body. Everything hurt. It felt like he had been running face first into a brick wall. But that sounded stupid, even for him... He looked down at himself, and saw the purple, green, blue and yellow bruises covering his darker skin. Oh right. Zad.

"You okay?" Athos asked gently as Porthos took his hand, allowing Athos to pull him up to his feet. Porthos grinned sleepy as he patted Athos' shoulder.

"Great, just great."

Athos smiled lightly as Porthos joined d'Artagnan by the table, he himself walked over to Aramis who was whimpering in his bed. Athos didn't have to touch him to know that Aramis had a fever, he could see his brother sweating through the thin sheet covering him. He walked over to the bucket by the wall of the room, grabbing the soaked cloths, rinsing them out slightly before walking back to Aramis, sitting down in the bed next to him and wiping his brow gently. Aramis eyes fluttered open for a second before closing again, and a small moan escaped his lips. Athos continued to wipe the sweat off his forehead and cheeks, his neck and chest. He pulled his fingers gently through Aramis' damp hair, massaging his scalp.

"There's breakfast on the table. I need you to at least try to eat something."

Aramis nodded silently, his eyes open, wet with tears from pain, fever and sheer exhaustion. Athos grabbed him by his elbows, heaving him up into sitting position, immediately noticing the change of colour to Aramis face. Athos had just enough time to grab the bucket standing by his own bed and pushing it in front of Aramis as the man retched violently, his body trembling with the convulsions.

Athos pulled his fingers through Aramis hair to keep the unruly locks out of the way, while squeezing his shoulder as Aramis heaved. Looking up, Athos met the worried eyes of Porthos and d'Artagnan, both of them having naturally stopped eating as Aramis bent over. Porthos filled a cup with water and walked over to his comrades by the bed, sitting down on Aramis' other side, his hand on his friend's shoulder, very careful not to aggravate the sore back. Porthos helped Aramis drink when his own hands betrayed him, shaking violently to the point where Aramis thought he would drop the entire cup into his lap. At the same time, Athos had gotten his hands covered in the salve still on the table from last night, applying it as gently as he possibly could.

Aramis' eyes were shut tight as he tried to mumble grateful words, but his voice was barely audible, hoarse and raspy. He gave up trying to speak and slumbered in exhaustion instead, his breath ragged from the fever, and Porthos helped him lay back down on his side in the bed as Athos put a cold cloth over Aramis brow. The two of them joined a worried d'Artagnan by the table and the trio slowly nibbled away at their breakfast, none of them really feeling like eating anymore.

"He's not going to be able to ride." Porthos said quietly. "And we have to get Bastien before he leaves the country."

"We need full strength to take down Bastien. My guess is that he is worse than LaBarge, and he almost took all four of us down in the brawl. He is not as strong as LaBarge though, but probably even more dangerous." Athos sighed, his mind frantically trying to figure out how to do this, before he looked over at d'Artagnan.

"I'll fight." D'Artagnan shielded his pride immediately, he knew what Athos was thinking.

"No you shouldn't. I don't doubt your ability, but I will not take the chance. Hurt ribs shouldn't be handled lightly, miss a parry and a blow to them could puncture a lung, and there's no way of saving you from that."

D'Artagnan scowled, knowing very well Athos was right, but not wanting his friends to leave him out of anything that would potentially, or well, _definitely_, put them in danger, put them in a situation he would have no control over and not being able to help.

"We ride alone?" Porthos asked, meeting Athos' nod.

"I don't see any other option."

"You shouldn't go alone!" D'Artagnan immediately protested. "We know what we are up against, and that man will not hold back for anything! We all saw that! He doesn't care what happens to anyone but himself and he enjoyed setting Aramis on fire. _He was laughing_!"

"We can handle ourselves." Athos argued back.

"I know that Athos, but this man is something extraordinaire. He will not stop for anything. He's no gentleman. He will do everything his sick mind can think of to bring you down. He will fight dirty."

"And that's why I'm bringing Porthos." Athos smiled lightly, his hand gesturing to his friend across the table.

"Dunno if that is a compliment." Porthos mumbled through the bread in his mouth.

"We're not arguing this d'Artagnan. You're to stay here and take care of Aramis. We sent word to Treville yesterday with what happened and our directions, hopefully he'll get it and send men out to search for us and help us. I'll make sure everything is paid for here, including the physician if Aramis, or you, would need it. In the meantime I want you to keep his back clean, cover it with the salve several times a day and keep him cool. And don't do anything that could hurt yourself." Athos rambled, while donning his leather and weapons.

Porthos had gotten up to get ready as well, while Athos grabbed a handkerchief from his bag, neatly rolling up some of the bread and cheese into it, putting it back into his bag for them to eat while riding. He grabbed one of the bottles of wine off the table, placing that carefully into the bag as well. He turned to Aramis, walking over to the man who had once again fallen back into a restless sleep, leaning down close to him and put the back of his hand towards the man's steamy cheek.

"We'll be back before you know it. Rest my friend, rest."

With those words, Athos turned to leave the room, grabbing his bag and hat on the way out. He gave d'Artagnan a pat on the shoulder.

"Stay here. We will return, with or without Bastien. Take care of him, we will see you soon."

And with that, Athos walked out of the room, as Porthos gave d'Artagnan a quick hug, along with a good pat on the back. "Promise to look after him for me."

"I will, if you look after him for me." D'Artagnan mumbled, sending a glance over his shoulder towards his mentor who had already left the room.

"I will protect him with my life."

"Just don't let it cost you your own life. I do like you too, even if you won't believe it." D'Artagnan smiled as Porthos patted his shoulder roughly, forcing d'Artagnan to stumble forward slightly, biting back on the pain vibrating through his side.

"We'll be back before the moon gets full. You have my word on that."

"I'll hold it to you."

And with those last words, Porthos had left the room too, leaving d'Artagnan alone with a whimpering Aramis.

* * *

Athos went to talk to the landlady about his friends' prolonged stay, along with their horses, offering her as much payment in advance as he could, with a promise to pay for the rest upon their return. The woman, who might've been the best woman in the world, saw no problem with them staying, and promised the mighty Musketeer that she would look after his friends and make sure they stayed comforted. Porthos had contemplated if he should tell Athos that this woman was flirting with him or not, but decided against it due to their lack of time. He could tell him on the road, he needed to get the horses ready. Athos was incredibly oblivious to her batting eyelashes, of course.

Athos said his thanks before meeting Porthos outside, Roger and Zad ready and waiting for another hard day's ride. Athos took the reins from Porthos, and they both jumped up onto their mounts, and took off. Walking for a good half an hour before easing their horses into a trot, not wanting to go full out on their tired friends. They knew hours of riding would be in front of them. They kept a steady pace, following the tracks they had found after Bastien took off with his friends yesterday. The rain that had fallen during the night had dug out deep tracks of horses' hooves, and the sun that had risen early this morning had already dried it, leaving tracks easy enough to follow. They were both very thankful for that, as long as they could track them, they still had a chance of finding him.

They both rode in silence, emotions of the last couple of days' events replaying in their minds, both of them lost to their own thoughts.

...

Athos' mind was locked on Aramis, pictures of him whimpering in bed flooding before his eyes. They had all been sick before, and not just from a little bit too much alcohol. Athos had seen big battles over the years, which was always followed by injuries of all the worst kinds, and both Aramis and Porthos had been lying on tables somewhere in front of him having their skin stitched back together more than once. Of course it had been reversed as well, him on the table, but that never bothered him that much, seeing his friends hurt was far worse than his own pain. _Injuries,_ he could handle. _Sickness_, he was bad at. He couldn't help but to feel so extremely useless and helpless when the fever set in and took control. It was like a thief you couldn't catch, someone out to steal your friend's life, but someone you could not challenge to a sword fight. Someone you had to wait out, and just hope the verdict would benefit your own sanity. You can burn and stitch cuts, and you can splinter a broken bone, but a fever…

A few years ago, the flu had ravaged through the garrison, leaving many Musketeers sick and bedbound. A few had paid with their lives. Athos hadn't been touched, and neither had Porthos, but as Aramis hadn't showed up for breakfast, they had gone to his place only to find him trembling violently in his bed. Athos and Porthos had stayed with him for days, despite Treville warning them, not wanting them to catch it themselves. They had stayed. Nothing would make them leave each other's side when someone was that sick. No, of course they had stayed, bathed Aramis in attempt to bring his fever down, held him as he retched anything they tried to feed him, holding his head as they pour water down his throat, and just keeping vigil in shifts for days. They never gave up hope, and one morning during Athos' shift, Aramis eyes had fluttered open to focus on Athos, and Aramis had given him a small, exhausted smile, before dropping back to sleep. It had been one of the most cherished moments of Athos' life.

Porthos had gone through a fever that could've only been sent from hell as well, after a bad blow to his lower back with the edge of a broadsword. They had been ambushed while riding through the woods, and where they had been out riding with no place to stop for stitching. Aramis had done the best he could, but the fever had wrapped itself around Porthos before they knew it, but even so Porthos pressed on that he would ride. There hadn't been much of another option being that they were out in the woods with only their horses, miles from the nearest town.

They rode until Porthos literally fell out of the saddle, body shaking from the fever. They propped him against a tree in a glade nearby, and Athos had left his two comrades alone to find help. He had never pressed Roger as hard as he had that day, the horse galloping through his own exhaustion by willpower alone, knowing his master never asked for him to run like that if it weren't a matter of life and death. Roger had been drenched in sweat and white with lather as they had arrived to the town, the big, powerful beast nearly collapsing into the straw bed Athos got him as soon as he could, getting a stable boy to care for him.

Athos had gotten a cart with two strong horses, a physician and supplies, leaving Roger sleeping in the stall under the bribed stable boy's surveiling eyes. Upon arriving back to his friends, Porthos had the colour of deadly white, and Aramis was on his knees next to him, his rosary entangled around his closed fingers, his head bent down and the whisper of a prayer on his lips. Athos had expected the worst, and almost fallen from the cart in despair. The physician had been at Porthos' side in a moment, assuring Athos that the big man was in fact still alive, by the neck of it.

It had taken what felt like an eternity but was really the span of about a week, before they had gotten the worst of the infection out of Porthos, having taken him to the village, gotten his wound reopened, drained, leeched, cleaned and re-stitched, only to have to open it several times again to drain the puss out of it. Porthos was not a man you could take down easily, and he fought like a bear throughout the whole ordeal, which Athos was eternally grateful for. He had no idea what he would do would he be to lose one of them.

Just the thought of losing another brother sent shivers down his spine, and he quickly shook it off. Aramis would be fine. D'Artagnan would see to that. D'Artagnan would be fine too, a couple of days rest would do him good.

He really liked that young Gascon, and his gut had been telling him there was something about the lad from the moment he had walked into the garrison and challenged Athos, in honour of his father. Athos had been having the upper hand the entire challenge, and he had been careful not to actually hurt the boy. Had it been an actual fight, say with a criminal or possibly a Red Guard, the boy would've been on his knees halfway through it. He had been so raw. Athos had also been able to tell that the boy favoured his right side, and Athos knew what an injured ribcage looked like in a fight, even when adrenaline and emotions took control of the pain, pushing it back. The boy was well trained, but with too much emotions built up inside to be able to control it.

'_Talent won't keep you alive if your heart rules your head._'

But there had been so much potential, he had seen the will and strength in his hurt eyes, he had the flexibility, agility and power of a soldier, and the way he had defended his departed father was very noble, as far as Athos was concerned.

D'Artagnan had followed them around after Athos had gotten out of the chains, and he had begged Athos to spar with him, having a taste of how good it had been during the challenge, and eager to learn more. Athos had turned him down several times, weeks passing, mostly to see how much the kid actually had wanted it but also allowing his ribs to heal before testing his full abilities. He never told d'Artagnan that though, he just kept him on an arm's distance as he followed them around like a lost puppy.

Then suddenly one day they had welcomed him into the garrison, and Aramis had tested his shooting skills, then Porthos had tackled him down in a brawl – Porthos had just been playing with him for quite the time, wearing him out, before dumping him in the hay much to the horses' annoyance. Then Athos had handed him a rapier. D'Artagnan had been tired and sore from his earlier opponents, but he didn't turn it down. Instead he fought valiantly and well, until Athos had pinned him down, sprawled over a table, with d'Artagnan's own sword to his throat, without Athos even working up a sweat.

Letting go of him, Athos had given him a soft grin, as Aramis and Porthos had flanked him, Athos sheathing his sword as he looked over to his two friends before looking back to d'Artagnan, meeting the lad's eyes as he was breathing rapidly, sitting on the table, his hands down on his thighs, bent over as he tried to catch a breath.

"Verdict?" Aramis had asked, as Athos nodded approvingly.

"Let's make a man out of him." Athos grinned, looking from Aramis to Porthos, then back to d'Artagnan, locking eyes with the youngster, his dark eyes sparkling with joy and excitement from hearing Athos' words. "Better yet, let's make a _Musketeer_ out of you."

* * *

_"Athos?"_

Athos' mind returned to the present by the sound of Porthos' voice, and he looked over to the man on his left side, an eyebrow rising in question.

"They'll be okay. We'll sort his mess out."

Athos nodded towards him, but he honestly wasn't sure how they would do it. They needed backup, but there was no way they could go to Paris to find their friends. That would mean stop tracking Bastien, giving him a bigger headstart. And after what he did to Aramis, there was no way any of them would just let Bastien flee. They would get him. Preferably to Paris and to court, but Athos really wouldn't be sad if someone accidentally shot Bastien in the stomach and left him to die on the roadside, slowly and painfully. Who knew… Pistols were sneaky weapons, could go off, just like that…

"I can see the doubt in your eyes Athos."

Athos sighed. Porthos knew him so well.

"I don't like this. But we will get Bastien. We will bring him to France where he will pay for his crimes."

"We will do it. We will do it for Aramis."

Athos gave Porthos a short nod in agreement, before the men urged their horses into canter and they once again fell silent.


	6. Chapter 6

**I apologize for the long wait, life just got into the way of it. Sitting in front of the computer is not really my favorite pastime as Sweden is having a summer heat wave. It won't be such a long wait until the next one, I promise! And you know, reviews helps my speed ;) **

* * *

**Six.**

Many miles on the road passed, without a single word begin uttered between the two men. They changed from canter to trot, to gallop to canter back down to trot. The trot turned into a nice break from the canter, and Athos was very pleased that they were riding their own horses, because they knew just how hard they could press them. All of their horses were used to the long days rides, and they were getting tougher and stronger by each mission that passed. They were athletes and in better shape than any of their owners. They could last for hours after the men called to a break. They didn't tire and always aimed to please.

They covered a long distance already the first day, only stopping for a lunch break to let their horses drink some water and themselves eating some fish and bread. By the time night was falling, they couldn't find an inn anywhere near them, so they decided to set up a shelter instead. They still didn't have to talk, they knew what they were meant to do, and they did it straight away without any fuss. Athos built the shelter, finding branches to put against leaning trees that would shield them against any rain were it to come, and hide them from people they had no craving to meet.

Porthos gathered wood to make a small fire, close enough to Athos' makeshift shelter to keep them warm, but far away so they wouldn't accidentally roll into it while sleeping. Porthos then went on to hunt something for them to eat, while Athos went over to the horses, removing all the tack to let the horses have some sense of freedom. They didn't happily untack their horses while out in the woods, because it would take them a while to get everything back in place once it was off, and if anything happened they needed to be fast. In the same time, they didn't want the horses to be wearing the gear for the entire day and night, meaning they always removed the tack as they were going to sleep. It was only fair, and if anything happened they would just have to make sure to hurry up.

So he untacked both stallions, pulling all the tack off them and moving it all up towards the shelter, letting the two horses be free. Both Zad and Roger wandered off, and very soon they were out of sight, but Athos knew from experience that they were not more than a few seconds away should Porthos or himself shout for them. First couple of times they had let their horses away by themselves, they had been slightly worried that the horses would never return, but they had quickly learned that the horses were never that far away. The minute they were called upon, they would be there, ready to go.

Athos collected all the tack and walked up with it to the shelter as Porthos arrived back to the fire, holding a rabbit by its hind legs. Both men sat down next to the fire as Porthos begun prepping the rabbit for them to eat.

"How far away do you think we are?" Porthos asked, without looking up from the rabbit.

"I don't know. Not sure how far we have ridden. Not sure what speed they are keeping." Athos said quietly, leaning back against a tree. "Hopefully we'll catch up. But if they are riding faster than us…"

"We'll catch 'em Athos, we will. No one outruns Roger and Zad, they're the fastest horses of the regiment. We have been riding all day. Tomorrow we will be on the road again as the sun rises."

Athos nodded, and sighed.

"I wonder how Aramis is doing."

"He's fine. D'Artagnan will see to that. Put your faith into him, would you?"

Athos sighed again and stayed quiet as he watched Porthos and the rabbit, which was now up on a stick, Porthos rolling it over the fire.

"You should learn how to do this."

"Do what?"

"Cook."

Athos snorted. He had never really cooked in his entire life, mostly because he had never needed to. Growing up he would always have servants, and even though he had never been a fan of people fuzzing around him, he had to admit that they were good to have for some things. Cooking for example. He just didn't have the patience, and would usually end up leaving the food for something else to do. When arriving back to it, it would always be ruined. Every time he had to cook he usually ended up just drinking wine instead, which was much easier.

"I don't need to learn it." Athos said, a small grin appearing on his face for the first time that day. "I have you guys to do it for me."

"It's never too late to learn new skills." Porthos smiled as he turned the rabbit.

"I can cook. I just don't have to. And you guys don't want me to."

"No not after you almost set the entire forest afire." Porthos huffed at the memory of them all trying to put out the fire Athos had caused. It had ruined his boots, but Athos had been fair enough to buy him a new pair. "If you were all alone right now, how would you feed yourself?"

Athos shrugged. "There's bread and cheese in my saddle bag from the inn."

"You would just buy all your food?"

"That's one of the privileges about once being a _Comte_."

Porthos caught the past tense. "You still are the _Comte de la Fere_, Athos. You still own the land from what you told us, and by right you still hold the name."

"I am, and I do still own it. But the house burned, now all that's left is lands. I still rule the lands, but everyone living there knows I will not claim anything of them. They still pay me taxes, but I have never requested it."

"They also know that if anything were to happen, you're the right person to know. You would help them any way possible."

"I would." Athos agreed. He had never needed to, but he knew that if anyone were to make a mess anywhere near his lands, he would make sure they were stopped. Anyone living on his lands was under his protection and his honour would never overlook a raid.

Porthos put a big hand over Athos' shoulder, patting it with enough strength to make Athos slightly fall forward.

"No matter who you once were, or still is… To us you are Athos… A man who is great with a sword, a brother in arms… Who can't cook to save his life. We love you nonetheless." Porthos grinned as he looked over to Athos, who had a grin on his face as well.

"Well, _you_ can't even thread a needle." Athos replied, his eyes glimmering.

"Neither can you." Porthos answered back with a raised eyebrow.

"Sure I can." Athos immediately defended himself.

"I have seen you sew."

"I can thread a needle. Never said I could sew."

Porthos grinned. "That's why we have Aramis."

Athos was about to object but then nodded in agreement. Aramis had taught them all the basics of sewing, but none of them could make more out of it than just about keeping the hole together. It would be uneven and unpretty, leaving ugly scars. No one could use a needle quite like Aramis. It didn't matter if it were skin or cloth, Aramis could stitch it together flawlessly, and he had proven so on many occasions. They all wore the proof of his perfection on both their bodies and their clothes.

"I cook. You are our bank. Aramis mend our bodies and clothes. And why do we keep d'Artagnan?" Porthos said, before he met Athos' eyes, and they both answered in perfect union.

"Errand boy."

Porthos pulled the rabbit off the fire as he divided it between Athos and himself, both of them tugging away at the meat.

"He proved himself well." Athos said in between the bites. "Stubborn, impulsive, raw, but his swordhand is matching my own, I only have to hold back a little in these days."

"Do you think he will eventually land that hit?"

"He will never land a hit. I'm just saying one day I might not have to hold back while sparring with him."

"He's got potential." Porthos agreed. "But he will never take me in a brawl."

"You're twice his size." Athos pointed out with a raised eyebrow, as Porthos chuckled.

"With the right moves, size doesn't matter. I can take down a man twice my size."

"There are no men twice your size." Athos said, looking over sternly at Porthos, but with a grin growing across his face. "So you think d'Artagnan could take you?"

"Never." Porthos said determined.

"So where are we getting with this? He will be a fine musketeer but never better than any of us?"

"He will give Aramis a run for his money, ey? That boy has a fatal aim. And he's pretty good with needle and thread. Not as good as Aramis, but definitely better than us."

"Well hopefully we will all live long enough to see just how good this lad can become. I'm excited to see his development."

"Here, here." Porthos agreed, leaning back as he finished his rabbit.

"There's wine in my bag." Athos said, and Porthos understood the hint as he got to his feet, and rummaged through the bag until he pulled out one of the bottles in there. Coming back down onto the ground next to Athos, he pulled the cork out and drank heavily from the bottle.

"Save some for me will you?" Athos said, trying to reach the bottle, but Porthos held it up, laughing as Athos looked like a cat trying desperately to catch a mouse, his hands flailing in the air as the bottle was just an inch away from his fingers at all times.

A smack to Porthos' ribs made the big man lower his arms in reflex and Athos grabbed the bottle, cradling it like a babe, with a grin covering his face.

"What happened to your chivalry?"

"Hard times call for hard decisions." Athos shrugged his shoulders as he drank steadily from the bottle. Porthos mumbled something incoherent, but his face lit up as Athos handed him the bottle, letting Porthos have the last share.

* * *

In the same time, back at the inn, Aramis was just coming around for the first time that day. D'Artagnan had been by his side, wiping his brow, caring for his back, trying to wake him for something to drink. He felt utterly helpless as Aramis twisted in bed, groaning from pain and fever, mumbling incoherent words in what d'Artagnan guessed was Spanish.

Now, Aramis glossy eyes blinked open, and his sight darted around the room in search for something d'Artagnan couldn't pinpoint. It wasn't until Aramis eyes found his d'Artagnan's eyes that he understood what the man was searching for.

"Athos?" He whispered with a shaky voice. "Porthos?"

"They will be back before you know it." D'Artagnan said quietly, pressing a cup of water towards Aramis' lips. The man drank, swallowed and closed his eyes hard.

He didn't say anything more, he just laid there with his eyes closed until he finally drifted back to a restless sleep. D'Artagnan had a feeling the man would not be able to rest properly until his two comrades were back. And neither would he. These three men had grown into his family, and he would do anything for any of them. Just sitting here in this room with Aramis completely out of it, and the other two riding off to face danger, he just couldn't help but to feel pathetic. He wanted to help, but he had no idea how to. Just sit here and take care of Aramis? He knew Aramis needed help and he would never mind helping any of them, but he felt like he had watched as Athos and Porthos rode off to face their deaths.

Aramis would never forgive him. He would never forgive himself. They had to return, they just simply had to. He had no idea what to do if they didn't. He had no idea what Aramis would do if they didn't.

Nope, them dying was out of the question. They would make it. If anyone could bring Bastien down, it would be them and he had faith in his friends.

Aramis once again begun to whimper in his sleep, mumbling in Spanish, the only words d'Artagnan recognized being 'Athos' and 'Porthos.' D'Artagnan sat down on the floor next to his bed, taking Aramis hand in his own, pressing it against his cheek. D'Artagnan closed his eyes, and for the first time in a long time, he began to pray.


	7. Chapter 7

**Seven.**

By sunrise, Athos and Porthos were back in the saddles, not letting sunlight go to waste. They picked up all their things, tacked their horses, and rode while sharing some of the bread and cheese for breakfast. They kept following the tracks that they had been following so far, hoping that they would lead them in the right direction.

They had lost the tracks a couple of times, but managed to find them each time. They had found several camps along the roads as well, and they hoped all the leftovers belonged to Bastien and his men. Roger and Zad pushed right through the camp, walking around the still smouldering left overs of a fireplace.

"If this is Bastien's, we shouldn't be far off now." Athos nodded. "Let's catch up."

The horses didn't need to be told twice before they set off at a fast gallop. Leaving the forest they headed out on a wide open field, both men easing up on the reins to let their horses gallop freely, both horses pressing on as hard as they could.

Even though they were out on a hunt, the seriousness of the situation, Athos couldn't help but to enjoy this moment. He loved these wide-open stretches, where he could feel every muscle of the massive stallion work underneath him, the power of the beast urging forward. There was nothing that could give him this kind of complete sense of freedom, and it was a feeling to cherish. Running with the wind, the hooves of his stallion drumming against the grass like thunder as they roared the lands remote.

He looked over at Porthos, and the big man seemed to be enjoying it just as much. Zad was very different from their other horses, both Buttercup and Roger were breeds from the Frieslands, as Aramis mare Belle was of pure Spanish blood. Zad was a mix between breeds, and none of them truly knew his history. With the speed the horse could keep Athos had a feeling that somewhere in his past, Zad descended from the racing horses Athos had laid eyes upon during his travels to England in another lifetime, but none of them knew for certain. Porthos had won the horse in a hand of cards a few years back, (Athos was certain he had been cheating no matter how much Porthos denied it) and the two of them had been a perfect match. They didn't have the same background as the others, they hadn't quite developed the bond, but they trusted each other and that was all necessary. The bond would just grow over time.

Athos moved his hand down towards Roger's withers, gently moving it up to scratch the horse's crest, the long, wavy mane entangling between his fingers.

Roger had once belonged to Thomas, his younger brother. Thomas had gotten Roger at age 10, the black stallion being less than a year old at the time. Their father had known how much a bond between an animal and its rider makes a difference, and he had solemnly believed that the earlier you start caring for the horse, the stronger the connection will be. Athos had gotten a yearling when he turned 10 as well, a beautiful stallion of the same breed, named Thibault.

Athos and Thibault never really found that bond, they both trusted each other and worked well together, but never really connected. Not like Thomas and Roger. They did everything together, they had been truly inseparable. Athos remembered how he had been watching them from the patio whilst at some dull meeting with some dull person of high authority. Thomas would be running across their gardens with a sword in hand, and Roger would be galloping behind him, trying to keep up in all twists and turns. They had literally been playing, knowing each other well enough not to accidentally hurt the other. More often than not had Thomas not showed up for supper, and as Athos had gone out looking, he had found him somewhere resting, leaned up against a tree with Roger happily grazing by his side.

Athos would never admit it, but he had been so extremely jealous of Thomas as they grew up. Thomas had always followed his own path, doing everything he wanted and disobeying the rules of the house. And their parents had let him, laughing at his free spirit and never punished him for anything. Athos had never had those privileges; he had been brutally punished for breaking the rules. He was going to be the _Comte_, he had to obey, and he had to do what was expected of him. He had always wished to be Thomas, and therefore he had put up a façade against his younger brother, pushing him away. Thomas had never understood why, but left Athos alone, and as they grew up they drifted further and further apart.

Thomas had always been the favourite, of everyone. It had been easy to tell, they way they talked to him and the way they laughed with him was nothing Athos ever had experienced. He was firstborn and heir to the family's riches. He was expected to be fair, noble, honorable and stoic. He had never asked for it, and he had never wanted it, but followed his duty as _Comte_ as his parents died way too early during a raid on their village.

Athos had been out there, fighting alongside the villagers, and his father, but he hadn't been able to protect him. Thibault had taken a sword through his chest, and he had badly broken Athos' leg in the fall. Athos had been trapped underneath his big stallion long enough for him to watch his father be killed, along with several other family member and friends, feeling extremely helpless.

His mother had been held hostage, and killed with a stray bullet as she fiercely protected 13 year old Thomas. And suddenly Athos had the entire responsibility hanging on his shoulders. He was just 17 years old. Thomas didn't speak to him for months, never more than nods of courtesy, and people in the streets looked at him with disgust. He knew they blamed him for the death of his parents, he should've been able to protect them, but he had failed his duty. He and Thomas drifted apart even further as Athos begun drinking away his sorrows. He was rich enough to always make sure there was a bottle of fine wine or brandy nearby. Thomas had grieved alongside Roger, never seen without the horse next to him.

Then he met _Anne de Breuil_.

And things had seemed to turn for the better. He had been truly, madly and deeply, over the moon in love. She had been the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes upon, and he could feel how she turned him into a better man. He wanted to please her, wanted to show her off and wanted to shout from the top of a mountain how much he loved her. His love was contagious, people begun talking to him again, as if they suddenly realized that this man had a heart as well. He had been happy, and it had spread like an epidemic through the town. Windows opened up, letting the sunlight in, people were cheerful and Athos' bottles were not emptied as fast as they had been.

And then Thomas died. Athos had found him, with Anne standing over him, her hands covered in his blood, tears streaming down her face. Her clothes torn. Scratches from nails across her chest and arms.

Athos did everything in his power to protect Anne, he knew what Thomas could be like, he had heard the filthy rumors, and he had believed her story when she said she had been attacked, all the evidence was there. But his hands were tied. He had been content with letting her flee the country and never return, but the pressure from everyone around him had forced him to watch the woman of his dreams hang. They wouldn't let the murder of their favourite person go, everyone living on his lands trusted him to put an end to her life. Several of them had found conclusive proof that she had been a criminal, a pickpocket and a thief before he met her, and he was confused, he didnt know who to trust anymore. Was she a murderer? She must've been. They had proof… The people of his land had proof of her being a cold blooded murderer… And at the end he had no choice. He had been heartbroken, and he hadn't known how to tell her. In the end, he didn't need to, she had understood what he had to do from the look in his eyes. The absolute sorrow, the look of Athos completely losing everything he had left. He couldn't even watch. He couldn't stay. He couldn't look anyone in the eye, they had forced him to kill her, and he had to get out.

His belongings had been few enough to fit into his saddlebags. He was about to tack of any of the horses from their stable when he saw Roger standing by Thomas grave. The entire horse oozed of sadness, and Athos realized that no one had been caring for the horse since Thomas' death. The horse hadn't allowed anyone to come near him, kicking and fighting everyone off him. The stallion was grieving, just as much as Athos was.

Athos had walked up to the horse, put a gentle hand on the horse's forehead, before tacking him up, putting a foot in the stirrup and heaving himself up. He had expected the horse to buck him off, but Roger had been calm and gallant, just awaiting orders. Athos had turned for the roads getting them as far away as possible. How he got himself to Paris he never understood, and getting there he had no clue what to do, until he ended up in a brawl with some Red Guards. The fight had been over quickly, and just a few days later some men had approached him, asking him to join the Musketeers.

Athos smiled as he thought back of that day. Those men had been Aramis and Porthos, and he still remembered how they had been grinning by his side as they led him to the garrison all while he wondered what he was doing. Joining a regiment? He could fight, he knew that much, but he was too emotionally hurt and damaged to even picture himself defending the king. But Aramis and Porthos had seen something in him and they were not about to let him walk out. And he was forever thankful that they had decided to keep him, as if he had been some sort of a pet. They had saved his life.

And Roger had been his trusting companion ever since, with him protecting the horse just as much as Roger protected him. Maybe they were not able to protect their loved ones, but they had been given a second chance, and they would not let it slide.

…

Athos was shaken back to the present as Roger curled his neck and snorted loudly, and Athos sat back into the saddle.

"All good?" Porthos asked. He had been looking over at Athos for a while, as the man next to him had been lost deep in thoughts. It happened now and again that Athos completely blanked out, but it wasn't as common as it had been before.

"Yes." Athos said, and even managed to land a smile in Porthos direction. "I was just thinking about when I arrived to Paris for the first time."

"I will never forget the way you knocked those guards down." Porthos grinned. "It was some sight. We knew straight away we needed to recruit you, no matter who you were."

"I'm glad you did." Athos smiled. "I was just thinking about what would've become of me if you hadn't."

"Let's not ponder on what-could've-been. I don't want to imagine where I would be today had I stayed in the Court."

Athos sat quiet for a moment, just breathing as he pondered on where life's roads could've brought him. Shaking those thoughts out of his head, he once again looked over to Porthos.

"Do you believe in _destiny_, Porthos?"

"I believe that every man has a road to travel, but which road we take is up to ourselves to decide." Porthos pondered, then let out a small chuckle. "Your bad sense of direction is probably why your life got so screwed over."

Athos couldn't stop the giggle from escaping his lips, as he tipped his head forward, before gathering himself, looking back up to meet Porthos' eyes. "When I left I just rode on, I had no idea where I was traveling, I was just letting Roger decide the paths. I could've ended up anywhere, but instead I ended up in Paris, at the same bar where you and Aramis were drinking. If that just coincidence?"

"A very happy coincidence." Porthos nodded.

Athos smiled. He had stopped being a man of the church a long time ago, but he couldn't help but to think that somehow, he was destined to find these men he called brothers. And even though he would never admit it out of loyalty to his family, they had been closer brothers to him than Thomas ever was.

* * *

The day passed as quickly as the last one, and the horses' good shape allowed them to cross many miles of land. Just as they were about to stop for the night, the heard voices. A lot of voices. They could see smoke rising through the air from a big fireplace, and they heard chattering of cups and glasses, people singing, people laughing.

Athos and Porthos dismounted, and walked the last bit on foot. They used the trees as a hiding place, and from where they were sitting they could see a big camp set up at the middle of a wide open glade, with ten or so men drinking happily, enjoying themselves as the sun set. Porthos nudged Athos' shoulder, and a finger pointed to one of the corners of the camp.

Bastien. He was sitting there. Drinking straight from a bottle. They had him now. And they would not let him go. The question was just how they would go at this, how would they do this without causing as little damage to themselves as possible?

"We wait till morning." Athos said. "It's not very chivalrous, but I honestly don't care. Not with him."

Porthos nodded in agreement. They were done being polite when it came to Bastien. He didn't deserve that anymore.

"From the look of how they are celebrating, in the morning they will all be hung-over and tired. That will be to our advantage."

"As said, it's not chivalrous, but I don't feel like being a gentleman. Let's just bring him down, tie him to the back of Roger and get out of here. If they had brains enough they wouldn't be drinking that heavily while on the run."

Athos nodded. "Let's go rest. No fire, no fuss, we'll find somewhere where we can lie down far enough from them but close enough to still hear them. Tomorrow, we fight. And in two days time, we will return to Aramis and d'Artagnan."

"Sounds like a good plan to me." Porthos nodded as the two of them walked away from there, finding their horses they walked them far away so they would not be spotted by Bastien's men if any of them were to drunkenly wander off into the woods to take a piss. Being spotted now would surely mean a quick and safe death to both the Musketeers. And they were determined not to lose the fight now, when they were so close.

* * *

"D'Artagnan?"

D'Artagnan moved quickly to Aramis side, a gentle hand on his shoulder. He quickly realized how much cooler the man felt underneath his touch, and he moved his hand to Aramis forehead. Yep, definitely cooler.

"Your fever is breaking." D'Artagnan said pleased, brushing some of the sweaty hair away from Aramis forehead.

"I can feel that." Aramis smiled weakly, his tongue brushing over his lips. D'Artagnan got the hint and quickly moved the cup of water standing next to Aramis over to his lips, and Aramis drank several big mouthfuls.

"Easy Aramis, don't choke on it." D'Artagnan smiled, his hand back on Aramis' shoulder.

Aramis swallowed tiredly and sent a small smile in d'Artagnan' direction.

"Still nothing?"

"Still nothing. Don't worry. It's only been two days. They will be back before you know it."

"They shouldn't have left alone."

"Aramis, you were in no state to ride, and they have to get Bastien before he crosses into Spain. If he crosses borders we will have no legal claim on him anymore and all of this would have been wasted. All your pain for nothing."

"Athos and Porthos are putting their lives at risk. They shouldn't do that, what if something happens and we are not there to help?"

"They will be fine. Trust them. They gave me their word of their return, and you know they will keep it. They will come back to us."

"And if they don't?" Aramis voice was wobbling, and d'Artagnan could tell he was on the verge of tears. His older brother was hurt, tired and still sick, and exhaustion and worry was visible all over his face.

"I'm not even going to answer that. Pray to the God you believe in, if it pleases you, but I am certain that they will return within a couple of days time. Have faith Aramis. If anyone can sort this mess out, it's them."

"You better be right." Aramis whispered, a cough escaping his throat. D'Artagnan helped him to another couple of mouthfuls of water.

"Try to get some more sleep. Who knows, by the time you wake, they might be back here."

Aramis sighed loudly, clearly not believing in d'Artagnan's words, but he could already feel himself drifting off to sleep, the few remaining bits of the fever lingering. He had to sleep to get better, so he could be ready for their return. He didn't want them to return only to find him still helpless. He had to be ready to tend to them if needed be. And knowing what risks they were putting themselves in, there was a big chance that he would have to patch them up upon their arrival. Aramis sighed, worry growing in his stomach, as he pressed his eyes shut, and once again drifted off into a restless sleep.

* * *

**So, yeah, I might've taken on another view of the relationship between Athos and Thomas, and it's been nagging me since I first watched 1x03, Commodities. The way Athos says "Thomas, my younger brother. Everyone's favorite." had me thinking of family and friends of family favoring certain kids. So instead of every other story out there where Thomas is everything to Athos, I decided to give you my take on it.**

**And this is how I imagined it played out between Anne (aka Milady) and Athos. This is one of many theories, not saying this is how it happened, but this is my view of it. Please let me know what you think!**

**On other note, I have two more chapter already done and waiting for posting… You want it? ;) **


	8. Chapter 8

**Eight**.

The sunlight shining in through the window woke Aramis from his sleep, and he stretched carefully. His back sent radiating pain through his body, but it was not as bad as it had been the last couple of days. He felt more awake and alive than he had in days, and he carefully sat up in bed. He was in his smallclothes, his cross and rosary still around his neck. He knew his friends would never mind at removing his clothes when necessary, but they had so far never, _ever_, removed his rosary. They knew what it meant to him. He rubbed his face carefully, as if trying to rub the sleep away from his eyes.

Looking up he realized he was alone in the room, and he frowned as he wondered where d'Artagnan had gone. Looking around he saw the lad's leather still draped over a chair along with his weapons, but he was nowhere near to be seen. Aramis carefully put his feet down to the floor, testing his shaky legs a little bit before attempting to stand. He smiled pleased as his legs held his weight, and he took a wobbly step forward. He caught himself with a hand towards the wall as everything turned black for a moment, but a few breaths cleared that up. He walked over to the table and held onto a chair as he drank a large portion of the water standing there.

He found a linen sweater that he was quite certain didn't belong to him, but he donned it anyway, before pulling on his trousers and boots. Having a look at himself in the mirror made him sigh – he needed a bath, and he needed a shave. His unruly hair was everywhere, and his beard was getting out of hand. Giving his head a small shake, he left the room he'd been in for the last couple of days, and made his way down the stairs.

He had not expected the sight he was met with, but after the initial shock had eased out, he smiled happily.

He had a full view of the kitchen ovens as he walked down, and inside the kitchen were a woman not much older than himself, standing with both her hands stirring at two different pots, she had a wide smile on her face as she laughed out loud. Next to her were d'Artagnan, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, kneading away on dough that looked as it would be bread in the near future. D'Artagnan had a cheeky smile on his face, his cheeks red with embarrassment.

Aramis slowly made his way over to the bar desk by the opening of the kitchen, where he sat down on a barstool and leaned over the desk, happily observing his friend. It took them both a moment to notice him, and as they did d'Artagnan smiled happily.

"Aramis! You are up!"

D'Artagnan grabbed a large cup and filled it with water as he made his way over to Aramis, setting the cup down next to him. The woman behind him filled a bowl from one of the pots she had been stirring, and gave it to d'Artagnan who in his turn put it down in front of Aramis.

"Chicken stew. Great for recovery." The woman smiled gently as she eyed Aramis. Aramis was still too stunned to talk.

"This is Madame Annette Lavoie, she's the keeper of the inn. Annette, this is Aramis."

Annette reached her hand forward, and Aramis, being who he is, grabbed it with soft fingers, leaned the back of her hand upwards and gently kissed it, all while giving her _the stare_. D'Artagnan sighed. Annette giggled.

"It's nice finally meeting you _monsieur_." Annette smiled gently, retrieving her hand as she went on to fill a glass of newly pressed oranges, which she put in front of Aramis as well. "Are you feeling better?"

"A lot better, thanks to the great hospitality."

Annette smiled gently. "Well I've always been interested in you Musketeers, my father always said I really should've been born a man. He took me to see a parade in Paris when I was younger, and since then I always wished a Musketeer would happen to pass by my inn. Then four of you came at once. Charles here have been helping me with cooking and cleaning while you've been resting upstairs."

Aramis looked over at d'Artagnan as he raised an eyebrow in questioning. '_Charles?_' D'Artagnan responded with a look saying 'leave it' as he kneaded away with the dough, forming into beautiful loaves of bread before skilfully placing it inside the bread ovens.

"Since when can you cook?" Aramis asked, raising an eyebrow as he ate from the stew.

"Oh, Charles here is a great cook, he gave me the recipe of both the bread and the stew. He taught me how to press the oranges and how to treat my vegetables better outside."

Aramis was stunned. As far as he knew, the lad had no idea about cooking, mainly because he was too young, he had no experience in it. But this just proved that he was probably better than all of them.

"Aramis, I grew up on a farm. My mother forced me into the kitchen at a young age."

"You never told us."

"You never asked, you just assumed I can't. Therefore I can just sit back and relax while you guys deal with all of the cooking. I might be good at it, that never meant I enjoy it."

Aramis shook his head. Sneaky little bastard. This stew he was eating was one of the greatest things he had tasted in a long time. He would certainly make sure the boy cooked in the future, and cooked a lot. Talent like this should not be wasted.

D'Artagnan walked out to sit next to Aramis as Annette walked out to tend to the other guests. D'Artagnan put a hand on Aramis' shoulder, his other hand gently tugging at Aramis' shirt, peaking underneath it.

"How does it look?" Aramis asked between bites, allowing d'Artagnan to move his clothes best he wanted.

"So much better, you have no idea. It was bad for a while, blisters popping and-"

"You know I'm eating right?"

"Sorry. But it was bad. And now it's real nice, the right colour is slightly returning and it looks a lot softer. Is it feeling better?"

"It's still straining, but it will for a while. It does feel a lot better, it cooled down nicely."

"I'm glad. Athos would have my head if you were not better upon their return."

"If they return."

"Aramis. Don't doubt them. They will be fine."

Aramis mumbled something into his spoon as he had another mouthful of the stew. He had no idea he was so hungry, but thinking about it, he hadn't been eating for days. Now he didn't seem to be able to stop, spoon after spoon filling his mouth at fast speed. D'Artagnan seemed to hear his thoughts.

"Easy Aramis, don't eat it all at once. Remember your stomach has been starving, there's plenty of food here to last you all day. If you eat it all at once it will just come back up."

Aramis smiled shyly as he slowed down his eating frenzy.

"I was going to take out Buttercup and Belle for a walk, but since you're up and feeling better, do you want to join us? Are you feeling well enough for it?"

Aramis nodded, swallowing. He couldn't wait to see his beautiful mare again.

"No rush though. Eat up, go upstairs and have a shower if you want it. I'll be down here helping Annette for lunch, just come and tell me when to go. I've already given them hay and fresh water, I just wanted to take them out for a walk so they won't get stiff and don't have to be inside all day. I've taken them out the other days as well."

"Knowing I would never forgive you if Belle wasn't in pristine condition as I came around?"

"Something like that." D'Artagnan smiled.

"Are you fit to ride though?" Aramis asked, suddenly aware that the reason d'Artagnan had been the one to stay behind with him was due to his own injury.

"I'm fine Aramis, I had time to heal nicely. It's sore but not bad."

Aramis wasn't content on hearing just those words, so before d'Artagnan knew it, Aramis nibble fingers were inside his sweater, peaking under the bandage still sporting d'Artagnan's ribs. The bullet wound was nothing to worry about anymore, it was nothing but a small scar, and the bad bruising around his ribcage was slowly fading as well. The dark purple and blue had shifted into light-red and yellow instead. He put his hands on it, while looking up at d'Artagnan, and even though he could see a reaction in the lad's face, it was not a twist in pain. Pleased, Aramis let down his sweater, and gave d'Artagnan a smile. D'Artagnan gave him another pat on the shoulder, before he headed up and around the little dining hall, where loads of people were enjoying lunch. Aramis finished his food while watching d'Artagnan collect plates, refill bowls and cups, wiping of tables and bringing finished plates into the kitchen. The lad was surprisingly good at this.

* * *

"So, how do we do this?" Porthos asked. He and Athos were lying up on the bank, just above the camp where Bastien were staying.

"How many pistols do you have?"

"Two. You?"

"Same. A couple of rounds."

"Yeah I got quite a bit of rounds. So we shoot as many as we can from here first, then we go down there?"

"Yes." Athos agreed. "We could wait to see if any backup is coming, but I really want to get to them while they are not really awake yet. It's not very gallant, but it will be effective. And there are a lot more of them than us, so it only seems fair if we have one thing to go for."

Porthos nodded. "Bastien lost his right to gallantry the moment he put Aramis afire."

Athos nodded as he made sure both his guns were loaded, leaving them up on the bank, making sure they could get proper shots while still having enough protection from the bullets that would come flying their direction. Porthos checked his gun as well, before nodding to Athos.

"You ready?"

"Let's do this." Porthos nodded, their hands joining together into a handshake, whispering their motto between them. '_One for all, and all for one_.'

Then they were off. Athos landed the first shot, killing a man who had gotten up to take a piss. They were at least gallant enough not to shoot sleeping men. Men with their smallclothes down was a completely different story.

Athos had time to reload his gun before men stumbled out of their shelters, most of them in their smallclothes, their guns drawn as they twirled around, trying to figure out where the shots had come from.

Porthos fired both guns at once. Reloaded while Athos fired. Athos reloaded, while Porthos fired. They kept the pace up for a good ten minutes, before they both ran out of bullets. The men down the camp were firing less and less as well, them too probably running out of bullets.

Athos and Porthos' eyes met as they unsheathed their swords, and went down through the forest, straight into the camp, warrior shouts rumbling through the woods as they slayed down everyone coming in their path.

For a long time, nothing could be heard but battle cries, the clinking of swords slamming together, and injured people screaming in pain. It didn't take long before Athos was highly regretting this, because they were too many, and he only had Porthos on his side. Porthos was brilliant, but he was still only one man. He could see people standing along the trees creating walls around the open glade, just waiting to get their swords dirty, but not wanting to join in just yet. There were definitely too many of them, and Athos realized as fear grabbed onto his conscience, that this wouldn't be a fair fight – it would be slaughter. Athos could see Bastien standing along the treeline, smiling, grinning, as he drank from a bottle in hand. He even raised the bottle in salute to Athos. _The nerve._

As they had fired the first shot, people had just appeared from nowhere, and by then it had been too late to back out. Athos had presumed there would be possibly fifteen people at the most, but he now guessed they were closer to fifty, or worse. And those odds were not anything he had expected. They were highly outnumbered. Even if both him and Porthos could take down one man every single time they swung their swords, there was just no way they could take down every single one of these men. At the moment they were doing alright, but the men kept coming at them two or three at the time. If Bastien got bored he could easily send out every single one of his men at once, and the fight would be over within the blink of an eye.

Athos rapier went point first straight through a man's throat.

If he was going to die, he would at least take as many others down with him in the fall.

He looked over his shoulder as he heard the sound of a man literally losing his head. The sight behind him showed Porthos, still holding the severed head by the hair, as the body fell limp to the ground. There was blood _everywhere_. And cutting someone's head was a difficult task, Athos had never managed to do it in a clean cut. Managed it physically that was – his rapier was no good at slashing, it was designed for piercing - but even by using a broadsword he just didn't have that kind of power needed to swing it hard enough.

Angry Porthos sure did, and he had just proved to these men just how much damage he could do when angered. He threw the severed head over to Bastien, it rolled and landed by his feet. Bastien didn't move a muscle as Porthos lifted his hands into the air and roared.

"Come on!"

Three men came at him, and he had them all down on the ground within the matter of seconds, but it was not enough. Athos fought down the four people coming at him as well, only to have three new men step up before he had even caught his breath.

Athos knew they were outnumbered, they were by far too many, and for some reason it just appeared to be more and more coming from every corner. For every one man Athos killed, another three appeared. He knew they were losing, the adrenaline leaving his body, the aches evident every time he moved. He managed to catch another glimpse of Porthos, the big man still going at the men at full speed, but Athos had known him long enough to be able to tell that Porthos was losing energy just like himself.

Realization hit like a brick.

They were_ losing._

They would be _killed_.

There was nothing more to do than to fight until they died.

Athos could feel his hands trembling, he could feel sweat run down his back, he could feel his breath becoming more and more laboured, but that didn't stop him as he pierced a man's lung with his rapier, letting him fall, then stepping over the man who was wheezing on the ground. He would fight until his last breath, he had too, for Porthos, for Aramis, for d'Artagnan. He would do everything he could, for as long as he could. He would never give up. And he knew Porthos wouldn't either. But the two of them had no chance of winning this, unless… Unless…

Something blue in the corner of his eye caught his attention, and he quickly brought down the two people in front of him, and the man behind him, before he turned around towards the blue colour. He knew that colour, he could point it out at any time.

The light blue colour, the one and only colour of a Musketeer cloak. It sure was, it sure was a Musketeer cloak being twirled around as it followed the body it was attached to. And it was not just one. The battlefield was all of a sudden divided in the black leather from Bastien and his men, and every other man carried the Musketeer blue. Athos felt like raising his hands in the air and cheer. They had help. Their backup had arrived in the nick of time.

They would win this.

He looked around, and met the eyes of a man he would be able to single out in any crowd. The light brown leather underneath the blue cloak, the shining silver breastplate, the white ruffles coming out of the leather by the neck. The hat with the feather, and underneath it were those eyes that could pierce through anyones' soul. Athos took two steps up to the man, their hands colliding into a solid handshake.

"Captain."

"Athos."

"You have no idea how glad I am to see you." Athos panted, not sure what else to say.

"I'm glad we made it in time. Now let's bring these men down."

Athos gave a nod as Treville pulled his sword out of the hilt, and from there on it didn't take long before most of Bastien's men were on their knees, backs or stomachs, unmoving. Bastien was still standing, a heavy limp on his right leg, blood trailing down the side of his face, breath panting, but still very much alive. Blue cloaks now surrounded him, everyone with a sword raised towards his face, and Athos watched how the man surrendered in defeat. The sword in Bastien's hand fell to the ground, as the man put his hands up. Athos sheathed his own sword, and walked up to Bastien, close enough so they could feel each other's breaths against their faces. Athos stared into Bastien's eyes for a long moment, before his fist collided with the man's ribcage. Again. Again. Again. And again. Already by the first blow, Athos had felt the ribs give way completely, but he didn't feel like stopping there. When he eventually let him go, Bastien crumbled to the ground, and Athos wiped his hand off as he walked away, making his way over to Porthos who patted his shoulder.

The two of them walked over to Treville, as their fellow Musketeers bound and gagged Bastien, heaving him up into a cart, where he was tied to the corners of the cart as well. He would have no way of moving, no way of escaping. He'd lost his privileges. He was now being taken back to Paris to be executed.

"Where are Aramis and d'Artagnan?" Treville asked as two of his finest soldiers came up to him.

"We left them at an inn about two days ride from here. Aramis was in no state to ride. We will return to them before returning to Paris." Athos said. It was not as much of a question as it was a statement.

Treville just nodded, knowing Athos and Porthos would do what they wanted at this point, there was no talking out of it. In the same time, he hadn't planned on arguing with that. Of course they were to go to their comrades and they would all return together. "Go back and bring them home. We will deal with Bastien and we will meet up again in Paris where I want a full report of what has happened."

Athos and Porthos nodded, and they both shook hands with their captain before heading over to their horses. Getting up on their backs, they turned them around and set off back towards the inn, where they hoped Aramis and d'Artagnan would be up and waiting, fully recovered. They couldn't wait to meet up with them, and they both ushered their horses into canter, leaving the other Musketeers behind them as they rode off into the forest again.


	9. Chapter 9

**Another one before I go away again for the weekend! HAPPY PRIDE TO YOU ALL, may love flourish! I do think someone should write a story of the boys in the parade… Any takers?**

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**Nine**.

Both Aramis and d'Artagnan were standing next to their horses, looking at each other before looking at their mares. Tacking them up had been difficult, both of them almost dropping the heavy saddles on top of themselves as neither Aramis' back nor d'Artagnan's ribs would allow them to lift anything that heavy over their heads. They finally succumbed to just ride bareback instead. Now actually getting up onto the horses proved an even more difficult task.

"I thought you said you'd taken the horses out while I was having my beauty sleep?" Aramis asked with a quirked eyebrow.

"For walks. I haven't actually ridden."

Aramis face showed his surprise to d'Artagnan's words.

"I know you would all have been yelling at me if I had been riding, alone, with these ribs. Especially you."

Aramis smiled shyly. He would've for certain, had he not been so focused on stilling his hunger. He didn't need to say anything, d'Artagnan knew what he was thinking as he put a hand on Aramis' shoulder.

"I might be young and impulsive, but I'm not always as stupid as you think I am."

Aramis grinned as he walked Belle over to the fence nearby the stable, carefully climbing up onto it, Belle moving closer to him, he just slid his leg over her back and eased down carefully. One of his hands went out underneath her long mane and scratched at the base of it, Belle flinging her head carefully. She was happy to be back with him, he was happy to be on her back again. He leaned forward as much as his back would allow him to, whispering in her ear.

"_Mon chérie_, you have to promise to take care of me now, I am not as steady as usual up here. So careful where you put your feet, will you?"

Belle's head bounced, as if she understood what he was saying, and Aramis patted her neck again as he steered her aside, allowing d'Artagnan to mount Buttercup in the same way he had mounted Belle. D'Artagnan got up with little discomfort, giving Buttercup a pat on the neck as well before the two of them headed off along the road. They stayed on the road, not wanting to get to far out into the forest, and they remained at walk. This was mostly to allow their mares some time out of the stable, but it was also like cleansing for their souls. Both of them knew everything could get better the minute they mounted their horses, even just for a stroll in the park.

They rode in silence for quite some time, the scenery of the French countryside laid out before them, the sun up and about but a cool breeze making sure it didn't get too hot. They rode through a little town with kids happily playing with buckets of water, women casting looks of admiration towards them before blushingly turning away. They kept going, leaving the little town behind them, coming out to nothing but open fields where farmers were working hard with the year's harvest.

An hour had passed without anyone of them saying a word, just letting their horses walk on and allowing the road to lead its way. Aramis had no clue where they actually were, but d'Artagnan had walked this road only yesterday and knew it lead them in a circle, so following it would lead them back to the inn.

Both of them were lost in their own thoughts, both thinking the same thoughts. Wondering where their two friends were at the moment, and what they were doing. Had they caught Bastien? Were they heading back here? Were they dead?

D'Artagnan peaked over to have a look at Aramis, the man deep in thought, just completely lost in his own mind, and d'Artagnan suddenly realized there were tears quietly making their way down Aramis' cheeks. Aramis face was like cut in stone, like he hadn't even registered that he was crying. But he sure was.

D'Artagnan had only seen him crying once before, and that was during the aftermath of Marsac's death. That night, the three of them had refused to leave Aramis' side, him telling them he didn't want the comfort, but he secretly did. He had told them to get out, he had even yelled at them to get out, but the three of them had refused, scared of what Aramis might do in that state of sorrow.

Athos had walked up to Aramis, putting a hand on his shoulder, telling him there was no way they would be leaving. Aramis had responded fast, and brutally.

Aramis had grabbed Athos by the collar of his doublet, and violently shoved him into the wall with great force. D'Artagnan knew that Athos would be sore after that, his head had bounced off the stone wall and the bruises on his back the upcoming days had told the story, but right then and there, Athos hadn't even flinched as Aramis had pounded on him with loose fists, no energy left to inflict any damage. Athos had put a hand up to Porthos and d'Artagnan to keep them away, allowing Aramis to get his emotions out, until energy left him, having Aramis grabbing a steady hold of his collar again, as to ground himself as his knees buckled.

Athos followed him to the floor, wrapping his arms around Aramis and holding him hard as he completely broke down, his tears appearing endless as he heaved in sorrow against Athos' chest. He had been inconsolable, crying until he begun coughing, coughing until he retched onto the wooden floor. During the entire time, none of them had said anything more than soothing words, one of Athos' arms pressing the violently trembling Musketeer towards his chest, his other hand twirling the fingers through Aramis sweaty hair.

That was the first time d'Artagnan had witnessed a full-blown panic attack, and he had felt so small, so helpless as Aramis had been so thoroughly heartbroken and vulnerable. He didn't want Aramis to go down that path again, because he wasn't sure the man could handle it in this state. He had to get him on another train of thoughts, had to get the man think about something else for a second because he knew Athos and Porthos hadn't left his mind for a moment since they left. He had woken every night from Aramis' nightmares, where he had been shouting for his friends not to leave him, not to leave him behind.

At first, d'Artagnan had almost felt a sting of jealousy, as if Aramis didn't trust him, but then he suddenly recalled Savoy, and Aramis terrible fear of being abandoned. Two of his brothers leaving him to ride off into danger probably didn't help those distressed memories and fears, and d'Artagnan had settled to sit with Aramis, assuring him they would return.

D'Artagnan was certain if he was trying to convince himself or Aramis, but he had faith. He knew just how good those two men could be, especially when there was no other choice. They were like Gods, all three of his brothers, they could just get themselves out of any situation and d'Artagnan hoped this would not be any different. He just had to keep hope, what else could he do?

Right now, he had to talk to Aramis, he had to get other thoughts into his head before the man broke down completely. Belle waving her head gave him a topic.

"Hey, Aramis."

Aramis quickly raised his arm to his face, wiping the tears away as if he had suddenly realized he was not alone.

"It's okay." D'Artagnan assured him. He didn't want the man to feel ashamed of crying in front of him. It was a beautiful thing, seeing him so human and loving. "Let's talk about something."

"About what?" Aramis asked, his eyebrows frowning in confusion. Where was the lad going with this?

"Tell me about how you found Belle." D'Artagnan suddenly asked, proud of himself for coming up with a topic about something Aramis loved and cherished, and would also probably make of a pretty good story.

Aramis smiled, his hand instinctively found its way in underneath her long mane again. His beautiful Belle. He finally understood what d'Artagnan was doing, trying to force him to think of something else, and he was grateful for it. He needed something else to think about, just for a second, and he took a breath before telling d'Artagnan the story.

"I first laid eyes upon her whilst still in Spain, nine years ago… Or was it ten? That doesn't matter. She was five years old at the time, of pure Spanish blood, and even though her age, she had not yet been broken. And she was fierce – '_Salvaje' _had been her nickname. _Untamed. Wild_. She would not let herself be shoved around, she wouldn't let anyone tell her what to do, and she would lash out with both teeth and hind legs if needed be. I, of course, could not tear my eyes from her."

...

_No, Aramis had not been able to tear his eyes away from her, she had been the most beautiful horse he had ever laid eyes upon. There was so much fire in the horse, and he instinctively knew she had be his, and he would be hers. _

_He followed the horse around for days, watched as men tried to calm her, tried to ride her, just tried to handle her. He didn't want to get too close because he knew how angry a lot of people could be when someone approached their horses without permission, so he stayed in the shadows and just observed the stunning horse as she reared up, shoving a man aside in the move. _

_It was several days later when Aramis rounded a corner as he saw the men with their swords drawn, Salvaje backed up into a corner with ropes tied to her legs and neck. They were going to put her down and they were not going to be gentle about it. He had heard rumours about the horse, that she had kicked a man into his grave, and he now feared that they would not go easy on her. _

_So he ran. _

_Before he had time to get there, a big man with a broadsword slashed at her, leaving a long and wide gash along her shoulder. The horse snorted loudly in panic, desperately trying to twist her way free of the ropes, but just forcing them deeper through her skin. The white in her eyes was showing as her eyes rolled back, and she was backing up into the corner as far as she could, her hind legs going out underneath her as she sunk down for a second, only to struggle her way up, charging towards the men. The ropes held her back though, and the men just laughed at her efforts to protect herself. _

"_Not so cocky now are you, Salvaje?" The man who had swung the sword said, roaring with laughter as he lifted his sword again. _

_He never had time to strike another blow before Aramis came rumbling straight into him with his own sword drawn. The fight had been short, but effective. The men had been farmers, not soldiers like Aramis was, and it only took him a few moments to disarm all five men, who were now backing away from him as he put himself in between the men and the horse who was standing still, panting hard. _

"_That horse deservse to die! She killed Lorenzo!" One of the men shouted angrily at him in Spanish, but Aramis kept his cool, answering back, calmly, in Spanish. _

"_This horse will not die, and you will not touch her again. I will take her off your hands and be gone before you know it." _

"_You're a fool if you think you can handle her. But by all means – if you can get her out of her, then do so!" _

_The men picked up their swords and left, leaving Aramis alone with the panting horse. Aramis took a few calming breaths, sheathing his sword and then turned to the mare. He walked up to her carefully, and gently put a hand on her neck. She immediately flinched, trying to move away from his touch, her eyes still rolling and her breath panting. Aramis didn't say anything, he didn't move. He just still still, his shoulders low, head bopped forward, with his hand on her neck. He was waiting her out. _

_He had once been told that you can 'command a gelding, ask a stallion, but a mare needs a written letter three days ahead asking for permission'. He hadn't had time to write her, but he was now asking for her permission, asking her if he was allowed to help her. And it was probably the first time in her short life that someone had not immediately demanded something out of her. _

_It took a good fifteen minutes before the stubborn mare finally evened out her breathing and he could feel her relax under his fingers. Permission granted. Not until then did he start working on the ropes, carefully and gently untying them. He could've pulled up his knife and cut her loose, but he was afraid that the steel blade would spoke her again. So instead he tried to undo all the knots that had been tightened by her pulling at them. _

_She was on guard, but didn't move a muscle as he pulled away the last of the ropes from her sweaty body. He took a step away from her, and after a moments hesitation, she followed, one step forward. Aramis was still slumbering forward, careful not to make himself look threatening in any way, as he put his back towards her, and took another three steps. She followed, curious to whom this gentle man was. He took five more steps. She followed, and this time walked all the way up to him, and gently lowered her chin towards his right shoulder, her breath tickling his neck. He didn't move. They remained in that position for a long couple of minutes before she moved her head, and Aramis started walking again, and this time he didn't stop until he had reached his lodgings, reached the stable behind the back of the building. _

_Then he waited. And he didn't have to wait long, just a few seconds later she appeared around the corner, walking straight up to him with determination in her eyes. She followed him into the stable, into an empty, big box filled with straw, and he could see her relax. Leaving the stable door open to make sure she didn't feel locked in, he walked over to grab a bucket of water and some rags, dipping the rags before carefully beginning to clean the wound to her chest. It wasn't deep enough to need stitches, but it was long, and even though he could feel her tense under his fingers, she didn't move a muscle. As he was finished, he sat down into the straw and leaned his back against the wall. And before he knew it, he was drifting off to sleep. _

_When he woke up, the mare was sprawled out into the straw, her head comfortable and warm in his lap. Aramis had put a hand under her cheek and scratched gently. _

"_You're not a beast. You are beautiful as a ray of the sun. Big, brave and fearless. If you allow me to ride and train you, I will bring you with me to Paris where I will try to earn my commission with the Musketeers, and you will be my pride and joy. No one will ever harm you again, 'cause I would not allow it. You would be under my protection." _

_As if she had understood him, her eyes opened as her ears prickled towards him. A soft sound escaped her throat, almost a sigh. _

"_I will protect you with my life, _Belle_." Aramis whispered, leaning down to press his lips to her head, not actually realizing he renamed her in that moment. "And I will not expect anything more, nor anything less, of you than for you to do the same for me." _

…

"That's a beautiful story Aramis, and so noble of you." D'Artagnan smiled as Aramis finished his story. Aramis smiled back, and it wasn't until then d'Artagnan noticed the colour change in the man's face, as he was suddenly turning more and more pale. D'Artagnan ushered Buttercup up close to Belle and came to a halt, Belle stopping as well as she felt her master sway on her back. D'Artagnan put a careful hand around the small of Aramis' back, steadying him.

"I'm fine. Just got a bit woozy there for a second." Aramis laughed it away with a hand towards his face. He had been just as surprised by the nausea passing through him as d'Artagnan had.

"You're still weak, and still recovering. No good in you exerting yourself now. We have been out a lot longer than we should, but I think we're almost back at the inn, we've been doing a big circle around the area."

Aramis didn't answer, his hand was back to his face, trying his best to focus at not getting sick. D'Artagnan grabbed onto his waterskin, pressing it to Aramis' lips and Aramis drank gratefully, emptying the skin.

"Can you ride back? Or should we walk?"

"I can ride." Aramis said, determined as he carefully stretched his back, wincing as he did. D'Artagnan put the waterskin back to his belt before turning Buttercup around to get her on the right path, before pressing her back into walk, Belle following the command. D'Artagnan never let go of Aramis though, even though his protests rang loudly at the beginning, telling d'Artagnan sternly that he didn't need someone to hold his hand. D'Artagnan let him whine, but kept Buttercup close and an arm around Aramis' back at all times. Soon enough, Aramis' energy was draining out completely and he was too tired to even argue.

By the time they arrived back to the inn though, D'Artagnan was the main reason to Aramis still on Belle's back. He had slumbered completely against d'Artagnan's shoulder, too overcome with exhaustion just from the quiet ride, and he was in great need of rest. D'Artagnan silently beat himself up for taking Aramis on this long ride, and promised his friend that when they rode back to Paris they would stop a lot more often than they usually did.

It took all of d'Artagnan's energy to get his fellow brother up the stairs, and into a bed. He then laid down next to him in the bed, too tired himself to move over to the bed he'd been using, and soon the two of them were napping peacefully, cradling each other in comfort.

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_**So I like horses, and there's not many things I find as sacred as the bond between a horse and its rider. And there's always a story behind it. I covered the boys and their horses, which I loved writing but really has nothing to do with the story, lol! I should just get on with it and reunite the boys, right? **_


	10. Chapter 10

**Once again, thank you all for the love and support. You make me write faster. **

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**I hope everyone had a good weekend! I know I did! And you can always trust me to overbook my ****calendar. I mean, I did manage to squeeze in horseback riding, BBQ with friends, long reining (then bathing and plaiting) four Shetland ponies, doing wedding photography, dinner with the family, enjoying the Pride festival, clubbing in the city, and then a day on the beach! All in one weekend! Then I come home, sit down, relax, and poof - I wrote a new chapter. I feel ridiculously productive. **

**...**

**Hope you'll like it! **

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**Ten**.

"Athos, we have to stop for camp. Athos? Athos!"

Porthos pushed Zad forward into a canter, quickly catching up with the trotting Roger, the long legs keeping good speed with the big, high movements. Porthos leaned forward to carefully grab onto the sleeve of Athos' doublet, and then he immediately forced Zad into a sliding stop, ducking as Athos had his dagger a little bit too close to his face than he was comfortable with. Roger comes to a halt as well.

"Oi, Athos, it's me."

Athos just gives him an apologetic look before sheathing his dagger in the small of his back, shoulders slumbering and mind going back into thoughts. Roger sets off at his majestic trot again and Porthos sighs as he rides up next to Athos again, their knees bumping together, enough for Athos to know he is there. The blue eyes of the leader are staring straight ahead though.

"Stop that, just talk to me." Porthos huffs. He never had the way of words like the rest of his teammates, but it was usually enough anyway.

Athos had been quiet for hours, not making any noise as they had been riding the entire day, ever since they left Treville and Bastien behind. They had been forced to stop by midday though for about three hours when the sun was at its peak, the hot air being too hot for the horses to run in. The sun was now low in the west, sinking down behind the trees. The entire western side of the sky was painted in red, and it was an absolutely fantastic sight. But it also meant that straight after that sunset, it would be pitch dark. Porthos found it was time to raise a camp.

"What do you want me to say?" Athos said solemnly, eyes still focused on the twirling path in front of them.

"We have to make camp. We shouldn't ride through the night."

"I just want to get to Aramis and d'Artagnan."

"You don't think I do? But we got another day's ride before we get there, and we can't push Roger and Zad to do two days full ride without a break. And we need to eat and rest as well, we will be no good to Aramis and d'Artagnan if we arrive there to fall at their feet."

"I'd prefer resting tomorrow at midday when the sun is hot. The night is cool and the morning also, but with the red night sky, we will have another day of hot sun tomorrow."

"_When it is evening, you say, 'It will be fair weather; for the sky is red.' And in the morning, 'It will be stormy today, for the sky is red and threatening_.'" Porthos quoted, in perfect Latin.

Athos finally broke the focus from the road to look over at Porthos with an eyebrow raised high.

"Matthew, 16:2-3." Porthos smiled.

Athos remained quiet, but the still raised eyebrow told Porthos that was not what Athos was questioning him about.

"Aramis has been trying to teach me the Bible. I mostly do it to please him when he is having a bad day. I don't understand why Latin though, I have a hard time with French as it is."

Athos nodded, before he let a small smile go, taking a breath.

"_Like a red morn that ever yet betokened, wreck to the seaman, tempest to the field, sorrow to the shepherds, woe unto the birds, gust and foul flaws to herdmen and to herds._"

Porthos looked utterly confused as he was now turning to Athos with a raised eyebrow. Athos smiled, as he had been talking in English, and quickly translated it to French so that Porthos would understand too.

"So what was that?"

"Shakespeare." Athos smiled. His father had been a fan of William Shakespeare and Athos had worked through every piece of paper written by the man. In the beginning it had been to please his father, but he eventually fell in love with it as well. He read it in English and therefore also learned a new language in the process.

"The playwright you talk of so much?"

Athos nodded, a small smile on his lips. 'Talk of so much' might be a bit exaggerated because Athos never talked much of anything, but to the others in the group, it seemed that Athos could associate pretty much anything they said with something Shakespeare had written.

Porthos grinned. He liked the fact that Athos actually was enjoying something, and he was rather certain that somewhere in one of those saddlebags were at least one play or poetry collection written by Shakespeare. But they were going off topic.

"So we're not stopping tonight?"

"I don't think we should, unless you want us to, or you feel Zad needs it? I know Roger rather run through the night than through the day. If we ride tonight we can rest big part at midday tomorrow, then ride through the night again and we should get to d'Artagnan and Aramis by the morrow after."

Porthos opened his mouth to intervene, but closed it, as he knew Athos was right. As always. How annoying. But that was why he was the leader of their little pack, it had come so naturally and easy for him that both Aramis and himself had just stepped to the side and allowed him to grow into the role.

Athos had joined them five years ago, after that bar brawl, and the beginning had been rough. Athos was never more sober than just being able to stand up by himself, and he didn't speak a word. He just tagged along cause he had nothing better to do. And Porthos and Aramis had been quite convincing as they had dragged him to the garrison. A sword was placed in his hand. Aramis wanted to do a little test, to see what happened if Athos was attacked, as the man stood there swaying in place, drunk enough not to comprehend the world around him.

But the minute Aramis sword was swung against Athos, a fire lit in his eyes, focus was suddenly there, and Aramis' sword flew across the yard just a few seconds later. Aramis had been stunned, Porthos had been stunned, Treville up on the balcony had been stunned and the entire garrison of Musketeers had grown quiet. After that, Athos had found a life worth living in the Musketeers regiment, and as they practiced together, the three of them grew inseparable. As Treville sent them out on missions, he always left Aramis in charge since Aramis was in fact the senior Musketeer out of the three, but the minute they were out of Paris, Aramis would randomly ask Athos what he would do when it came to every decision being settled. It fell so natural to Athos, and he was good at it. Well, not when it came to taking a decision on which route to take, that was…

Porthos sighed and met Athos' eyes. "Okay. Let's ride through the night. But I'm hungry and every part of my body is sore and-"

He didn't have time to finish the sentence before Athos was holding a bottle of wine in his direction. Porthos smiled big enough for all of his teeth to show, and took the bottle from Athos, drinking heavily from it. He handed it back, allowing Athos a drink as well. The men passed the bottle back and forth between them until it ran dry. Athos packed it back down into his bag, and then drifted off into silence again.

Porthos mentally smacked himself for not being the kind of open talker as Aramis was, he was not the best at holding a one-sided conversation and he was never really certain to what to say in an awkward situation. Aramis never seemed to have that problem, he was always chitchatting no matter who was on the other end. Porthos searched his brain but couldn't find a good topic. Instead he nudged Athos' arm with his elbow, Athos responded in looking his way, their eyes meeting.

"Hey. I know you're worried and so am I, but we will be there soon and everything will be alright."

"I just hate the fact that we had to leave them behind."

"_Had to_ are the right words. We had to get to Bastien. And we did. Aramis and d'Artagnan will understand."

"But Porthos. We _left Aramis_."

Porthos jaw dropped with stunned silence, as he suddenly understood what Athos brain was playing at. Finding Aramis out at Savoy had been nothing short of a nightmare. Aramis was their fool, the always merry and jubilant friend. That early morning, as Athos had pulled him into his arms whilst sinking to their knees in the snow, back in those haunted woods, Aramis had been nothing but a shell of his former self, a panicked and scared fawn who just lost every sense of security, his entire sense of the light world faded into darkness. Athos had promised Aramis right then and there, that he would never desert no matter what, that he would never abandon him, and that he would never leave Aramis behind.

So what did they do? They left him, while he was sleeping. They didn't even give him a chance to complain, to intervene, to say _goodbye_.

Porthos groaned. Athos nodded in agreement.

"I promised to never leave him behind. And he gets hurt, falls ill with a fever and we leave him. I know he has d'Artagnan there, and d'Artagnan knows of Aramis stress from Savoy, but I don't feel good leaving him. It doesn't feel good leaving d'Artagnan either, but I'm positive he will keep up hope of our return."

"Hopefully he will share it will Aramis."

"I'm certain of that. He's good with Aramis. Keeps him centred. And Aramis is going to need that right now."

"I know who the lad is even better for." Porthos grinned, sending Athos a grin.

Athos raised an eyebrow again, but Porthos could see the smirk on his face along with it. Athos knew so well that they had all changed the last year, the lad coming into their group had changed everything they knew about themselves and the year had been a busy, intense one with many missions, a lot of trouble, angst, drama, tears, worry, anger, hurt… and so much glorious laughter. Athos had opened up, page by page. Porthos and Aramis had learned more about Athos the last year than they ever did during the five years before the young boy from Gascony put a gun to his head. And Athos actually appeared quite… well happy might not be the right word, but at least he was less suicidal. Taking smaller risks, as he was actually trying not to injure himself. He was still drinking but not all the way into oblivion. There were small signs, but Porthos and Aramis embraced it nonetheless.

"Oh, he's a good lad." Athos sighed, his cheeks turning a slighter shade of pink.

"You're training him for leadership." Porthos stated.

"Nonsense."

"You're expecting him to be a leader, maybe even become Captain one day." Porthos continued. It was not a question, it was just another statement.

"Would that be so bad?"

Porthos smiled widely. "Of course not. I'm just saying you do have a soft spot in your heart, and d'Artagnan is bouncing on the pillows. It's nice to watch."

Athos snorted. Even though he knew Porthos was completely right. He was so immensely proud of d'Artagnan and how much he had developed during the year. He had really grown into the role of a Musketeer, and Athos was certain that he could be one of the finest soldiers the regiment had ever witnessed. He just needed the right training, from all of them, and he would soon take any of them down in their own speciality.

Athos felt like a proud big brother, something he had never felt for Thomas. There had never been that bond, and Athos could not remember Thomas ever giving him a reason to feel proud. They hadn't know each other, they never spoke more than what was required of courtesy, and Athos had always had a gnawing feeling that something was not right. He never said so of course, he couldn't speak ill of his brother, and he could not speak ill of someone who was loved by all.

But as Athos was drinking in the darkest of the halls, he would hear rumours, names never mentioned by he would understand anyway. Filthy rumours, about a very young but _oh so_ handsome man, charming women out of their clothes in the alleys, then doing unthinkable things to them without consent. And in the same time, women seemed to turn up dead in the gutters.

The dead cannot bear witness.

When Anne had set the estate on fire, with him inside of it, she had called Thomas a hypocrite. The last words Athos had heard from his younger brother, _words that had been screamed down their halls as Athos had been running up the stairs to the sound of his brother and his wife fighting_, the last words his brother had uttered to his ears was calling _his wife a murderer_. And she had used the word hypocrite, as she had been standing there with her clothes torn, with _Thomas'_ dagger in her hand. And how did he respond?

He had her hanged.

No, he had never felt proud of Thomas. But d'Artagnan made him feel proud every day. Proud to be his mentor, proud to be his comrade, proud to be his friend, and proud to be his brother. D'Artagnan was everything that Athos had wished of Thomas, and he was not about to just let this lad go. He would train him to be the best he could possibly be, train him to act as a leader, making him into someone others would look up to.

Making d'Artagnan feel proud of himself.

* * *

_And yeah quotes from the Bible and Shakespeare. I have honestly read more Shakespeare than the Bible, and I hope I quoted it right. No offense meant! Just love! :)_


	11. Chapter 11

**As always, thanks for your feedback! :) Are you ready for a reunion? **

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**Eleven.**

They rode through the night, rested during the hottest hour of the day, and then rode the following night. By the time Athos and Porthos came back to the inn where they had left their friends, dawn was only a few hours away, the sounds of birds coming alive as a slow breeze eased through the woods.

The sight of the inn in the distance had been a welcoming one, and now they reined in their horses, dismounting and leading the tired horses into the stable in the back. Buttercup lifted her head and whinnied quietly as a welcome back upon recognizing her friends. Belle moved closer to the stall as well, shaking her head with her ears pricked forward. Roger and Zad both answered softly as Athos and Porthos untacked them, placing them in stalls. Athos dug in his saddlebag to find treats, which he handed to all four horses, giving the mares a scratch on their foreheads as well, before the two men walked into the inn, which lay quiet at the moment, all lodgers and owners still asleep.

Athos and Porthos quietly made their way upstairs, to the room where they had last seen their friends, and Athos peaked in through the door. The sight that met him made him smile, his heart melting knowing they were still safe.

There were four beds in the room, as it had been. Two of the beds stood empty, while the other two were occupied by sleeping men. D'Artagnan was in one of the far off corners, sleeping on his unhurt side, his legs curled up and hugging his pillow. Aramis was in the bed standing by the other far corner, sleeping on his stomach, a sheet entangled around his legs, one arm under his pillow and one hanging limply off the bed. His hair was a big mess. 'Well, we all have to sort out our hairdo's after this is done with', Athos thought, pulling his fingers through his own bird's nest stuck to his head.

Athos and Porthos made their way inside, as quiet as possible not to wake the other two, and Athos immediately made his way to Aramis, putting the back of his hand carefully towards Aramis stubbly cheek, and he instantly released the breath he didn't even knew he was holding. Aramis' clammy skin was gone, the fever had broken and he was resting peacefully, his body and mind at ease. Athos leaned over him and gently lifted his linen sweater, desperate to see the extent of the injury to his back. He was positively amazed at how well it looked. There were some scarring on a few patches along his back, but it had a pleasant colour and all the blisters were gone. It still had a long way to go before being completely healed, but it was definitely a whole lot better.

Athos felt his knees buckle with relief as he walked over and sat down at one of the chairs by the table, meeting Porthos' worried eyes. Athos just gave him a wide smile and a nod, and he could see Porthos relax substantially. Athos looked over to d'Artagnan sleeping on the bed where Porthos was standing, and Porthos nodded back to Athos. He seemed fine too.

Porthos shoulders slumbered and he put away his hat, pulled off his gloves and his heavy leather jacket, hanging it over the backrest of a chair. He pulled his boots and trousers off, leaving it with the rest, before he climbed into one of the beds.

"Good night Athos."

"Good night Porthos."

Athos sat a long time just watching his friends as they slept, the bottle that had been standing on the table was slowly being emptied. It was over. Bastien was on his way back to Paris, he was not longer on their hands, and Athos was proud that they had managed to catch him. He was being dragged to justice, their fellow Musketeers making sure of that. And Treville would make sure he got what he deserved. And now they had arrived here, seeing their friends still fully alive and looking a lot healthier than earlier. The big lump that had been stuck in his throat since they separated was gone in an instant.

Athos smiled to himself, finishing the bottle before undressing down to his breeches, before climbing into the bed, and for the first time in a long time, he slept without nightmares.

…

His head was spinning dangerously, and he pressed a hand towards the nearest tree. The rough, cold bark was cutting gashes into his palm as he slid down to a knee, violently retching. Over and over until there was nothing left.

There was nothing left. Nothing.

By his feet were twenty dead Musketeers. Twenty. They were not meant to be dead. They were meant to be training. It was meant to be an _exercise_. Not a massacre. Last night they had been happily feasting on a deer Marsac had brought down, Aramis had cooked it over a big fire. They had been drinking but not excessively, just enough. They had shared stories, songs and memories of their homes. They had told each other about their worries, their loves, their dreams and futures. They had been friends enjoying each other's company.

Aramis looked over to where crows were dragging skin from bones, and he turned over and retched again, nothing but sour tasting bile.

He was alone. Alone with twenty dead bodies, alone with twenty dead friends. They had only taken down a few of their attackers, and they had brought their own with them upon leaving as they believed everyone to be dead. Aramis barely remembered fighting, his head was hurting so bad, the cough in his throat hurting painfully. _It was so cold_.

He took a tentative step forward. Almost fell, but managed to find his knees with his hands, leaning over he closed his eyes and breathed as the white searing light left his vision. He had to walk away from his. Like Marsac had. Marsac had been his brother, the first man who had greeted him into the team, the first one to pat his back as he earned his commission and they had spent years fighting by each other's side. They were brothers, and Aramis had thought that would never change. He would never leave Marsac, and Marsac would never leave him.

_Unus pro omnibus, omnes pro uno. One for all and all for one. _

But Marsac couldn't stay. He was so ridden with guilt – why was he alive and they were not? He had just gotten up and left, too stricken by the horror box realize that he left Aramis there, left him with the crows and wolves and thieves and the cold and dark night. Aramis could've gotten up too, and walked away from it. He didn't have to sit with the bodies, they were dead and wouldn't know if he left them. But he couldn't _leave them_, he couldn't leave their dead bodies alone. He had to guard his friends. He hadn't been able to guard their lives, but he would guard their bodies so they could be brought home to their families for proper burials. Someone would come for him, someone would.

So he sat down. Right amongst them. He found a sword. It was newly polished – the owner hadn't even had the time to swing it before losing the battle.

Aramis dropped it and bent over to retch again.

The night was the most difficult hour of the day. There were wolves coming in, smelling the dead meat, and what they thought was an easy meal. They were surrounding him, creeping into the camp, their paws deadly quiet against the snow. Aramis stood in the middle with his own sword that he had found somewhere amongst the bodies. The wolves were looking at him with wary, yellow eyes that seemed to burn like fire in the moonlight.

One wolf put his sharp teeth into a Musketeers thigh and ripped a big chunk of frozen meet straight off the bone, and that's when Aramis lost all the control he had promised himself to keep hold of. He was thrashing his sword best he could, finding another sword in his frantic dance, waving them around like possessed, screaming from the top of his lungs, letting all anger, worry, fear, angst and _hatred_ out. Nothing would ever hurt his friends again and get away with it. He would kill everything that dared to go near the camp.

_One for all and all for one. _

Athos was suddenly in his dream, holding him tight to his chest, brushing his hair, begging him to calm down. Aramis looked into his eyes, and Athos promised to never leave him behind.

Then Aramis closed his eyes, and as if it had all been a dream, Athos was gone, once again leaving Aramis hurt, feverish and completely, utterly _alone_.

'_No, Athos, no please, do not leave me. No, you promised…!' _

Aramis was jolted from his nightmare by a pair of strong hands. He panicked for a second, someone had a firm grip of his shoulders, shaking him wildly while repeating his name over and over.

"Aramis, come on, snap out of it. Open our eyes, we are here."

That voice. Aramis eyes snapped open, to find a pair of clear blue eyes stare back at him. They were filled with worry, panic, sorrow, anxiety and hurt, tears oozing on the edge of breaking lose.

"Athos?" Aramis barely breathed the word, so afraid that this would be a dream. 'Please don't let this be a dream. Please, let him be here.'

"It's me Aramis. We are back. We are safe and we have returned to you just like we said we would. We will never, ever abandon you. Never! Do you hear that!?"

Athos voice was loud, but he was not angry. Well, at least not with Aramis, how he was feeling about his own decisions at the moment was another story.

Aramis flailed out of the bed, jumping to wrap his arms around Athos' neck. Taken aback by the sudden reaction and speed, Athos fell backwards and they both landed in a pile on the floor, hugging tightly, rocking each other back and forth.

"You came back." Aramis whispered through the tears falling from his eyes, as they broke free.

Athos put his hands on Aramis' cheeks, holding him close.

"I told you I will never leave you, and I mean that. I am sorry we left. But it's all over. Treville has Bastien. He will not be a bother. We are back here. And I will never, ever leave you."

Aramis nodded, once again wrapping his arms around Athos. The normally so restricted man who would not bend to hugging and sobbing on the floor in the early wee of the morning, was now embracing it with open arms. And it was beautiful. It was so _human_. Aramis suddenly remembered there was one more person he needed to see, and he spun his head around only to be grabbed by two big hands by his armpits, pulled roughly to his feet, spun around and wrapped into a big bear hug from Porthos. They didn't say anything, they just hugged it out, enjoying the moment. D'Artagnan offered Athos a hand up, and Athos got up, pulling his lad into a hug as well.

They had all been sleeping peacefully and exhaustedly when Aramis thrashing violently in the bed, shouting for Athos to stay, had woken them up. No matter how tired any of them were, they got up to shake him awake. They would not let him suffer anymore, they were there, and they were always there.

As Aramis and Porthos broke apart, Porthos shared a hug with d'Artagnan as well, as Aramis just stood still and breathed in the scene, before he put his hands on Athos and Porthos shoulders, his medically trained eyes looking over them both, searching for injuries.

"We are both fine Aramis. Tired perhaps from the lack of sleep, and sore from a lot of riding, but other than that we are perfectly fine."

"How?" D'Artagnan asked, also eyeing them over, especially Athos. Athos was the best one out of them when it came to hiding his injuries, not liking the fuss.

He was not as bad as he had used to be, before he could have an open gash and still claim to be fine, now he would most of the times let them know, mostly because hiding it was not worth the shout-down Aramis would do when finding a bad wound or a cut that Athos had been neglecting. It had happened too many times, and by the time Aramis had found them, usually by completely ignoring Athos when his gut feeling told him something was wrong with the man, it had usually already turned infected. Then Aramis would shout in anger. Athos would agree while drinking wine. Aramis would shout more. Athos would drink more. Aramis would shout all while soaking the cut in wine. And Athos would complain that Aramis was just wasting wine, and then he would drink whatever was left.

"Treville came with help." Athos smiled, trying to conceal a big yawn escaping his lips, but it was doomed from start. And once he started, he could not stop, and it was of course very contagious. Soon they were all yawning.

"Let's go back to bed then." Porthos finally muttered. "We are all alive and unhurt but I'ma gonna sleep now. When we wake we talk everything over, important thing is that we are all together again."

"Here here." Athos nodded, them all joining in for a four-sided hug again. Athos and Porthos then quickly retreated to their beds, both of them falling asleep before their heads even seemed to have hit the pillows.

Aramis looked at them and smiled, so much relief going through his body that he barely knew what to do with himself. Out of instinct, he walked up to the sleepy Gascon and pulled him into a hug. D'Artagnan was a bit startled at the sudden affection, but pulled his arms around Aramis, embracing the hug from his friend.

"I'm sorry I've been such a pain while they were gone."

"You haven't. You've been injured and worried and have bad memories, there's no shame in that. But they are home now, and they are safe."

"And utterly exhausted." Aramis said, breaking the hug and looking over his shoulder. "We should let them sleep it out. They will most likely need it. We can ride tomorrow. We still have several days ride in front of us even though we can keep the speed a bit faster now, but I will not rush." Aramis grinned, and d'Artagnan nodded pleased, letting another yawn escape.

"Let's go back to sleep yeah?" D'Artagnan smiled, and Aramis nodded, feeling his own rough nightmares the last couple of days had taken their toll as well. They all could do with more rest, not just Athos and Porthos. So the two men still standing moved over to their beds as well, sunk down, and soon the room was filled with snoring as four brothers all rested peacefully, lips curving up into smiles as their unconscious brains knew they were safe and sound.


	12. Chapter 12

**As always, thank you all who are following, favorite-ing and reviewing. You mean the world to me. Here's chapter 12. I have no idea how long this will get but I mean… There's still a long ride home! :) **

* * *

**Twelve**.

Next time Aramis woke up, a few hours later, Athos and Porthos were still sleeping in their beds. D'Artagnan's bed was empty, and Aramis smiled to himself as he guessed their young friend was down in the kitchen with Annette again.

Aramis got himself out of the bed and got dressed in his linens, before walking down towards the stables. There were few things in this world he loved as much as a morning with the horses – the soft sounds of them nibbling their hay, a horse or two sprawled out on it's side sound asleep, some of them whinnying as he entered. Belle did, as always, but this time he was also met by Roger and Zad, and he smiled gently as he walked up to the stallions, scratching their foreheads, before checking them through one at the time, carefully and thoroughly palpitating their entire bodies, feeling for soreness and aches, looking for cuts and swelling. Both of them were stiff and sore in some places, but nothing that worried Aramis – the horses had just been moving a lot, covering great distances at fast speed. Their muscles would be sore, but they would be okay.

He walked over to his own beauty, the black mare bobbing her head as he walked up to her, and as he leaned over the stable door, she lifted her head to lower it onto his shoulder, as she usually did. Her muzzle was leaned against his cheek, and he leaned his head into hers, his hand rising to scratch underneath her chin. She loved that, and Aramis knew it. They could stand like that for what felt like an eternity, and he always made sure every day to give her the affection she deserved.

Aramis pulled up a piece of a carrot that he handed to Belle, still scratching her head. He could see Buttercup coming up behind her as the two of them shared the big stable, and he broke a piece of the carrot to give her as well. In the beginning of reaching Paris, Belle had been so jealous whenever he interacted with other horses, but she had soon grown to understand that he would always chose her when it came down to business. And that was all she needed.

The horses already had clean water in their troughs and hay in piles, and Aramis smiled to himself as he guessed d'Artagnan had seen to the horses before going to the kitchens. You could trust a farm boy to always make sure the animals were cared for. They would take them out later, either for a walk or for heading home to Paris. Decision-making was always up to Athos.

Aramis walked over to the main house, washed his hands, arms and face in the bathroom right inside the doors, before walking over to the kitchens. His intuition had been right as he saw d'Artagnan sweating by the ovens, a happy smile on his face as he was once again making bread. His shirtsleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and he had tied his long hair up into a pony by a leather string. He had an apron on, and his hands were white from flour. Annette was in there too, stirring at pots, and she was the first one to notice Aramis.

"Good morning _monsieur_." She smiled. "How are you this morning? You look cheerful."

"As good as could possibly be, _madame_."

"Charles told me of your friends return. I'm glad to hear they made it back unharmed."

"So are we all." D'Artagnan smiled as he handed Aramis a piece of bread. "Try this."

Aramis raised an eyebrow as he took the bread from d'Artagnan, who had a great grin on his face, his eyes sparkling. Aramis bit down on the bread, and his eyes lit up.

"Oh, my." Aramis quickly ate the entire piece, even licking his fingers to get all the yummy taste. "D'Artagnan, that is great. Did you make it?"

"Yes. It's just like normal levain, sourdough bread, but then Annette had some lemons so I had a lot of it in the dough… I like the outcome."

"D'Artagnan, this is great. Is there more?"

"I made several loafs of it."

"As a thanks for all Charles have done for me, I will send you off with a big basket of food when you do leave. Several of those loafs will make their way down into the basket." Annette smiled, wiping her hands off on her apron before grabbing onto d'Artagnan's cheek, pulling it slightly. "He's such a good boy to have around, I will miss your company."

D'Artagnan flailed a little, causing flour to fly through the air, and Annette laughed as he let him go, leaving the kitchen to attend to her guests. D'Artagnan's face was bright red as he rubbed his cheek, unconsciously wiping of white flour all over it. Aramis grinned, but remained quiet.

"You two seems to be getting along well." Aramis smiled, as d'Artagnan handed him more bread, complete with different spreads and a big cup of freshly pressed oranges.

"She reminds me a lot of my mother." D'Artagnan smiled quietly.

"You don't talk of her much." Aramis stated. "Is she still living?"

"No." D'Artagnan said, his face growing sullen. "She died of sickness when I was twelve."

"I'm sorry." Aramis said, his hand reaching out to grab onto d'Artagnan's flour-y fingers.

"It's okay, it was a long time ago."

"Time will heal a wound, but it will not remove the scars." Aramis said quietly, meeting d'Artagnan's eyes.

"Those are wise words, my friend." D'Artagnan smiled as he squeezed Aramis' fingers, before pulling them back, to continue with his bread, removing another loaf out of the stone oven before continuing to kneed the loaf he had been working on as Aramis had come down. "Are Athos and Porthos still asleep?"

"No."

Both Aramis and d'Artagnan turned their heads upon hearing a voice they knew, and smiled widely as Athos and Porthos came inside the dining area, sitting down on each side of Aramis. Both of them looked up with questions sprawled across their faces at d'Artagnan in the apron kneading dough by the ovens.

"What's going on here?" Athos asked, looking from d'Artagnan to Aramis.

"Oh, would you believe it, this little sneak has never told us what a good cook he is. Here, try this!" Aramis ranted happily, tearing pieces of his bread to share with his friends. Both of them tried it, and it was easy to tell just how much they enjoyed it as their faces showed of surprise.

"You made this?" Athos asked, as d'Artagnan put his loaf into the oven, smiling happily to Athos. "I didn't know you could cook."

"His mother taught him." Aramis smiled. "He's been helping Annette here while I was sick, giving her all sorts of recipes and ideas."

"Annette?" Porthos huffed, not really keeping up with the conversation, as he looked Aramis in the eye, all while sneaking the bread away from his plate, as he wasn't watching. He stuffed his mouth with it before Aramis had time to react, but he certainly did as he saw his bread disappear.

"Hey!"

"Guys, easy. There is plenty of bread to go around." D'Artagnan grinned, loving that they were all back together, and loving that they all enjoyed his bread so much. While talking he put a loaf in front of them, complete with butter, marmalade and roasted ham. He gave them a bread knife and Athos immediately dug into it. D'Artagnan also placed a big jug of pressed oranges and two more cups by his friends.

"Who's Annette?" Porthos asked again, looking up at d'Artagnan. The younger man swiped his hand in a wide gesture, and all of a sudden a woman appeared on Porthos' free side.

"Let me introduce myself, I am Madame Annette Lavoie, and this is my inn. It's good to see the two of you back and healthy."

"Thank you for looking after our friends." Porthos said immediately, bowing his head. "My name is Porthos."

"Oh, the pleasure has been all mine. Charles have been helping me so much, I'm not sure how I got along before he came here, and I'm not sure how I will get along after you leave. Which I assume will be soon?"

"Not today, but we will leave by morrow." Athos answered as they all turned their heads to their leader, expecting him to answer.

"You will be greatly missed."

"We will make sure to stop by every time the roads brings us your direction. Your hospitality has been everything desired. If you ever find yourself in Paris, be sure to ask for us." D'Artagnan smiled from inside the kitchen, where he had moved to stir the big pots.

Annette smiled shyly, her cheeks turning slightly red as she nodded her promise. She liked these men, they had been good to her, paid her well, helped her a lot, and she had always been in a bit of awe of the Musketeers. Her father had taken her to Paris once when she was a lot younger, and she had seen the men on their black horses with the blue cloaks, and she had been amazed by their stoic presence. Ever since then she had wanted to meet them, but they just never seemed to be coming her way. Therefore, when there were suddenly four of them on her doorstep, one badly injured, she greeted them with open arms. And they had been just as noble as she had dreamt.

"I will make sure of it." Annette smiled. "Now, how are those pots coming along?"

"Ready to serve." D'Artagnan smiled, as Annette rounded the corner into the kitchen, coming up next to him.

The other three men smiled at their youngest as he explained to Annette just how he could tell that the chicken was done, and why it was so important to get chicken completely done before you could eat it. They enjoyed listening in as d'Artagnan was full of ideas for the kitchen and knew a lot about the subject. Athos turned to the two men on his left.

"So, he's been withholding key information. I hope none of you are an expert in something I don't know about?"

"Aramis brags too much to be able to withhold anything." Porthos grinned, earning a glare from Aramis.

"And you mean you _don't brag_?"

"Never said that did I, ey?"

Athos grinned to himself as he listened to his friends' happy banter, and he was just so glad to have them all back together. It had only been a few days but that didn't matter, any moment away was too long. He hoped it would be a long time coming before they would have to split again.

And he hoped they wouldn't figure out what _his_ expert skill was…

* * *

They spent the day enjoying each other's company. Annette had told them about a lake not too far away, and lending them some soap all four men took their horses by their halters and walked down them to the lake. The men washed their horses first, guiding down into the shallow water and scrubbing them with soap, before rinsing them until their coats were shining. Then they turned the soap onto themselves, playing in the cool water, scrubbing their bodies as clean as could be. Annette had good bathing facilities that they had all used by the inn, but there was always something special about cleaning off in a fresh lake.

Athos was pleased to see the bruises fading by d'Artagnan's ribs as the man had taken his sweater off, and even though they were still sore and would be for another week or so at least, the pain was a bearable throb and it was something d'Artagnan could toughen out.

Athos helped with cleaning off Aramis' back, old skin peeling off as new skin was slowly coming on. Aramis had his eyes closed and inhaled deeply at the touch, but didn't complain, and told Athos to continue. It needed to be cleaned, and they would cover it with salve again later. Athos gently washed away all the loose skin with the soap, before rinsing it thoroughly with cold water.

Exhaustion soon taking over, Aramis only had to look at d'Artagnan once before the younger lad had spread out their cloaks in the shade, allowing Aramis to lie down for a rest. Athos and Porthos didn't say anything, but observed with worried eyes as d'Artagnan helped Aramis down, and covered him with his own cloak. Aramis drifted off in seconds, and d'Artagnan made his way back out into the lake to rinse off all the soap from his hair. He dunked his head into the water, rinsing it best as he could. As he stretched back up, he saw the worried eyes of his friends, darting between him and Aramis.

"Aramis is better, but he's not fully recovered. That fever kept him out for days. We took a ride day before yesterday, we just walked for about an hour, and he near fainted on me from exhaustion. I haven't been able to get more food into him than broth and stew as he was out, and not until yesterday did he actually have a proper meal." D'Artagnan explained. "He's as said, a lot better, but the fever took its toll on him and he just appears to run out of energy after a while. It comes on sudden, as just now, and I don't think he can even tell before he just has to lie down."

Athos and Porthos nodded in understanding, before Athos spoke up. "So when we are heading home, we will have to keep an extra eye on him and take a lot of breaks."

"He lasts longer for each day, he just has to gain his strength back. Don't worry." D'Artagnan smiled, tossing the soap that was floating by his legs over to Porthos. The bigger man smiled, and caught the soap, but the slippery bugger jumped out of his hands, and a loud laugh coming from d'Artagnan was soon heard accompanied by a lot of splashing water and Porthos flailing around trying to catch the soap. It was a good sight to be seen.

As Athos attention was on Porthos, with a big smile showing off his teeth, d'Artagnan remembered the bet they all had, and he just couldn't help himself. He found a small log floating close by, and carefully lifting it, he swung it against Athos.

Athos didn't even look away from Porthos as he firmly grabbed onto the log with a big hand, twirling it and knocking d'Artagnan over within the slice of a second, before dropping the log. Athos turned his eyes, stern but gentle to flash d'Artagnan a smile, as the lad spat water out of his mouth. So not today then.

D'Artagnan giggled as he walked over to Buttercup grazing by the lakeside, and he took her by her lead rope, walking back out into the water. The mare followed with gentle steps, and d'Artagnan kept walking with her, past Athos and Porthos, until the water got too deep for him to walk. He held onto Buttercup's long mane as he floated next to her, and she didn't hesitate as she kept going out to the deep end, before the ground disappeared underneath her too, and she happily begun swimming, her ears prickled forward, her long legs working underneath her. D'Artagnan was laughing as he kicked his legs next to her, allowing her to guide him as she swam. This reminded him so much of home, the hot days after working the farmland, he and his friends would take their horses down to the lake down the road, allowing their horses to cool off as they did too. They could spend hours just playing in the cool water.

Looking back towards the beach, he couldn't help but laugh at loud. Athos was on his way out to him, holding onto Roger who was paddling fast with his long legs, Athos barely keeping up, Roger's ears prickled forward as well as he whinnied happily. Belle had laid down to rest next to Aramis, but her head was raised as she was looking towards her friends, wondering what the heck they were doing. Then Porthos and Zad was a completely other story. They were standing in the shallows, Porthos with water up to his knees, and Zad next to him. But as Porthos tried to walk deeper, getting his horse to swim as well, Zad just anchored his feet into the ground, refusing to walk any further. Porthos was begging, bribing and doing everything in his power, but Zad just lowered his head, snorting against the water, then jumping back as water splashed up onto his face.

This movement was repeated over and over, before a hoof came lashing out, slashing the surface, and Porthos had to jump away so Zad wouldn't accidentally hit him. From there, it was like Zad just realized that it wasn't too bad, and he made the biggest buck any of the men had ever seen a horse do. He leapt out of the water, knocking Porthos down in the motion, and then bucked all the way until the water got too deep, and that's where he begun swimming, whinnying loudly to Roger and Buttercup. D'Artagnan and Athos were both very much enjoying the sight of Porthos getting up from lying position, spitting lake water out of his mouth.

"Damn horse!"

Zad's ears were like glued forward as he swam like possessed out to the other, and Athos quickly collected his lead rope, hanging it over his neck to make sure it wouldn't entangle his legs as the horse swam. D'Artagnan was laughing loudly as Porthos huffed up on the beach, annoyed.

"Come on Porthos!" D'Artagnan laughed, but Porthos just shook his head. Instead he sat down in the shallows with his arms crossed over his chest.

The two men soon steered the three horses back towards the shore, and all three horses gave a good shake as they walked back up on the beach. Athos patted Porthos' shoulder as they reached him.

"Next time he will not be as fussy, now when he tried it once." Athos smiled. "You should take a swim anyway, the water is nice."

"Mmm…" Porthos mumbled something, his hand coming to scratch the back of his neck as he met Athos' eyes. "There's just one thing."

"And what is that?" D'Artagnan asked as he walked out of the water to fetch his towel.

"I dunno how to swim."

Both Athos and d'Artagnan turned to look at him, confused expressions drawn on their faces.

"I just… There's no lake in the Court. No one ever showed me. I tried to learn by myself a few times but it never ended well, someone always had to drag me up."

"I can teach you." D'Artagnan smiled. It was not a smile of mockery, he was no way teasing the older man, and Porthos could easily tell. He only wanted to help. Porthos nodded, a shy smile appeared across his face, and that's how they came down to spending the rest of the day teaching Porthos how to swim.


	13. Chapter 13

**As always, thank you so much for your support! **

* * *

**Thirteen. **

"Here you go."

D'Artagnan gave Annette a quick hug as he accepted he bag she had packed with bread, spreads, different kinds of cheese and fresh fruits and berries. He packed it into his saddlebag, giving some of his clothes to Porthos to make room for it. Annette also handed him a two bottles of wine, and two bottles of juice.

"Thank you for everything Annette. And as we said, if you ever come by Paris, or ever is in need of help, find us."

Annette smiled as she leaned forward and gave d'Artagnan a kiss on his cheek, the lad turning slightly red. The other men grinned happily behind him, before they all came up to say their goodbyes to the lady. Athos came up last, and he handed her a small moneybag, filled to the top.

"This is too much monsieur." Annette immediately said before even opening the bag, shaking her head, trying to hand it back.

"It's nowhere near enough." Athos smiled. "Please accept it and use it well."

Annette understood that she would not be able to deny the money, and she hugged the bag close to her heart as she watched the men wave as they made their way over to the stables. All their horses scuffled around and greeted their men happily upon their arrival. Porthos and Athos went straight over to pull the tack down from where it was handing, and d'Artagnan and Aramis put the bridles on their horses before sending a glance over to each other, before walking over to Porthos' and Athos' stalls, leaning over the low doors.

"So, yeah, we still have this problem." D'Artagnan smiled shyly, Aramis coming up behind him. They both turned their puppy-look-stares on Athos and Porthos, and the latter two immediately asked, in perfect union.

"What do you want?"

"Well young d'Artagnan's ribs are still sore, and my back is really not fond of stretching just yet. We have tried before, but we have not succeeded in actually placing the saddles onto our lovely ladies. So if you strong men could please assist us in this matter, that would be very polite of you."

Porthos grinned widely as he took down Aramis' saddle and placed it on Belle's back. He leaned under her to grab the girth, and then jumped high in alarm as a pair of teeth sunk their way into his arm.

"Belle!" Aramis immediately snapped at her, the mare turning to look at him with her ears forward, eyes innocent.

"What the-" Porthos frowned, his hand brushing up and down his arm where she had bitten him.

Aramis had his index finger raised and pointed towards Belle, and angry look on his face, as a father would tell off a misbehaving child. "You do not bite Porthos! He's merely trying to help, I'm not riding all the way home bareback, so you be nice, would you?"

The mare tossed her head and turned it to look away from the two men, as if Aramis had just wounded her pride.

"Mares." Porthos pouted as he once again took a hold of the girth, a bit more weary and careful at this time, and gently tied it. Aramis placed a hand on Porthos' arm.

"Sorry about that. Did she bite you all the way through?"

"Nah I doubt it made its way through the leather, it doesn't hurt."

"She's just a bit sensitive sometimes." Aramis defended his girl, patting her neck.

"She's a crazy mare." Porthos huffed, then jumped back as a hoof lashed out towards him, narrowly missing his knee. "_Merde_!"

Porthos took his hands away from Belle, raising them into the air in surrender. "You're on your own Aramis."

Porthos mumbled all the way over to Zad, patting the stallion over the neck before donning his own tack, attaching the saddlebags and weapons to the saddle. Aramis was still cuddling with Belle, the mare much happier to have her very own Aramis dealing with her. Porthos just rolled his eyes as he looked over to Athos and d'Artagnan who were both already outside and up on their horses, Athos had clearly helped d'Artagnan out with less of a trouble than Porthos had. Buttercup wasn't as much as a _diva_ as Belle was.

Aramis suddenly looked up and realized everyone else had already mounted, and walked Belle outside, put his foot in the stirrup as his cheeks turned a bit red from embarrassment. It wasn't the first time they had all been waiting for him as he cuddled away with Belle. He grabbed a hold of the thick, black mane with his left hand, and a wince involuntarily crossed his face as he stretched his back. He bit his teeth as he pulled himself up, catching the other stirrup, and took deep breaths, closing his eyes as he tried to get the world to slow down in front of him.

A hand was suddenly placed on his thigh, and he blinked until he could make out whom those neatly tucked in gloves belonged to.

"I'm fine Athos."

"Anyone of us could have helped you up had you asked. Don't strain yourself. Please tell us if you need a rest."

Aramis nodded gratefully as he looked up to meet Athos' worried blue eyes. Flashing him a trademark smile, he collected Belle's reins. "Let's go home!"

The four men turned their horses towards the road, and happily waved to Annette who was standing outside the doors of the inn, waving back as she watched the Musketeers disappear. One day she would go to Paris, she promised herself. And she would meet those men again, of that she was certain.

* * *

They rode at a slow pace, their horses walking on long reins at their own speed. D'Artagnan and Porthos were in the front, Athos and Aramis in the back. Their moods were chipper as they all had something to talk about, pleased to be back on the road, pleased to not have Bastien in between them, and mostly of all, having them all together.

Porthos leaned out of the saddle to nudge d'Artagnan's arm.

"Hey, why didn't you tell us you could cook?"

"You never asked." D'Artagnan answered immediately, as he had answered Aramis last time he heard the question.

"You should've told us anyway."

"Like you have told those two that you can knit?"

Porthos immediately dropped his jaw, and Athos and Aramis spurred their horses to come closer. Had they heard that correct?

"Can you knit?" Aramis asked, his voice high in surprise.

Porthos glared angrily at d'Artagnan, who was grinning happily. "How did you know?"

"When we were at the Court, Flea said that you are a man of many talents. That you can one day fight a brawl and the next day you will knit a pair of socks."

Porthos was definitely embarrassed, as even his ears seemed to be changing colour. He had never intended for anyone to know of that little skill.

"Is it true?" Athos asked, grinning ridiculously.

"Mmm, yeah. Well Paris gets cold and it's cheaper making socks than buying them, and socks are hard to steal. A yarn of wool is easy catch." Porthos huffed, shrugging his shoulders. "Flea taught me how to do it."

Porthos was definitely expecting mockery from his fellows, but the reactions he got was pretty much the opposite.

"I can knit too. We had sheep at the farm and my mother showed me how to make yarn, and then turn it into socks, scarfs, gloves and hats." D'Artagnan smiled.

"One of you have to teach me, I really want to learn it." Aramis smiled, no sound of sarcasm in his, just pure interest.

"I'll be happy to show you, 'Mis." Porthos smiled, happy that none of them were picking on him. He was sure it would backfire at some point though, but now they seemed to be at ease with it. The only one who hadn't said anything was Athos and that didn't go unnoticed, and all three turned to him.

"Oh, I'm sure that's a great skill to know, but I rather pay for my socks. Knitting seems like it requires patience, and that I don't have."

"We know." All three answered in union before giggling at each other. Athos rolled his eyes at them.

"I'm sure Athos has some hidden talent we don't know about." D'Artagnan smiled, curious about this man, certain something laid hidden.

"No, I don't." Athos sighed. "I really can't cook, you all know that. I don't have the patience to work with thread nor yarn."

"I'm certain there's more to you my friend than meets the eye. Or are you just an expert drinker?" Aramis grinned, raising an eyebrow to his friend.

"That would be it." Athos nodded. That was so _not_ it. But he would never say. If they found out… He shook his head. They would never find out.

D'Artagnan eyed Athos for a while, watching the other so stoic man wriggle in the saddle. He was definitely hiding something, and d'Artagnan decided that even if the man would not tell them, he would find out somehow. This could be a great ace up his sleeve, did he ever find out Athos' secret.

"Aramis, how about you? Except working extra on the side as a seamstress I mean? Do you have any hidden talents?" D'Artagnan asked.

Aramis seemed to think this over, wondering if there was something he had never told the others about, but Porthos had been right, he was probably bragging too much about what he could do.

"Aramis speaks lot of languages." Porthos helped. "Spanish, English, Italian, Greek, Latin. Like a dictionary, he is."

Aramis smiled. He had always liked languages, and he was good at them. He found it easy to pick up another language, and had always found it easy to learn a new one. At the moment he was trying to learn German, but it was hard when there were no Germans around the palace. It was always easier to learn when he could try his skills on someone who knew the language perfectly.

"I didn't know that." D'Artagnan said, definitely impressed, before he swapped his French into Italian. "I speak Italian too, my mother came from there. It's a bit rusty now, but my father never let me forget it."

Athos and Porthos both turned their heads as they hadn't understood a word the lad said, but Aramis just grinned happily, answering back in jingling Italian.

"That's great, now we can talk about the others without them having a clue of what we are talking about."

D'Artagnan giggled, as Porthos frowned. "You two are not allowed to talk to each other in a language I can't understand. That's just unfair."

Aramis smiled at his brightest as he met Porthos' eyes. "You know I'd never speak ill of you."

"Yeah, cause y'know I'd hunt you down." Porthos said, giving Aramis his biggest grin back. Aramis just remained smiling, the two of them staring it out.

"Athos, how about you? You speak other languages?" D'Artagnan asked.

"English, Latin, and a little bit of Spanish. Aramis has been trying to keep my Spanish up to date but it's very rusty. So is my English and Latin, I don't use the languages nearly enough to keep them going."

D'Artagnan nodded. "My dad would speak Italian to me when my mother died – she was from Italy – just so I wouldn't forget her native tongue. He thought it was important to know a second language. I never did learn Latin, working at a farm time just never seemed to be enough."

"Languages is a good thing to know, it's easier getting around in the world if you can speak to more people. And to be able to speak it properly you will have to speak it regularly, otherwise you will forget."

D'Artagnan nodded, he knew Athos was right, as he always was. He had promised his mother to keep the language up and he wasn't about to let her down. It was just so much easier speaking French. But learning that Aramis spoke it, at least he could practice with him.

"So…" D'Artagnan said, looking over at Athos who once again had an eyebrow raised in question. "So you're not going to tell me your skill?"

Athos gave him a short smile, just the tweak of the corner of his lip.

"No." Was the short answer that followed, before Athos settled behind d'Artagnan again, next to Belle.

"I understand that you won't tell d'Artagnan, he's new to the group, and I mean, do we really know him? But me, your trusted friend since many years back… Surely you can tell me?" Aramis smiled, bashing his eyelashes and using his best puppy eyes expression on Athos.

Athos gave Aramis a stare, and Aramis immediately sulked into the saddle. He knew what that stare meant. It was something in the style of "back off or I'll make you"-stare. And Aramis had learned a long time never to trust it.

"Hey, d'Artagnan, where did that bottle of wine go?" Athos asked. It was definitely time to start drinking.

"It's early morning, Athos." Porthos pointed out. The sun had just started rising a few hours ago.

"Well, it's evening somewhere." Athos grinned as he took the bottle from d'Artagnan, popping the lid he happily drank a mouthful, before yanking at Roger's reins to stop him as he spat out the drink onto the ground. All stopped to stare at him, except d'Artagnan who was giggling happily.

"What the…" Athos begun, staring down into the bottle.

"Pressed oranges. Healthy stuff, it's good for you." D'Artagnan grinned, still giggling like a schoolgirl.

Athos was not pleased as he handed the bottle back to d'Artagnan who switched it for the wine. Athos looked down into the bottle before tasting, not trusting this youngster for a second right now. He definitely needed some wine if he were to make this entire ride.

* * *

A few hours went past, and after a while they had all retired into riding in silence for a while, just enjoying the sound of the birds, hoof beats and nature rolling behind them. The sound of Belle whinnying softly though made all men turn their heads towards her and Aramis. Belle's sound had been much more quiet than her normal sounds, and Athos didn't like it. It was as if she was calling for help, and as he turned his head, his intuition proved right as the man next to him was visibly pale, swaying dangerously in the saddle, but his fingers entangled into Belle's mane in a firm grip. The mare had slowed down her gait, walking with small, easy steps, balancing his movements in the saddle as she tried to make sure that he stayed on her back.

Athos looked around, and was pleased to see an opening among the trees just the throw of a stone away from them.

"I do think this will be a good place to rest at."

Porthos had shifted Zad directly after Belle whinnied, so he was walking as close to Belle as possible, in case Aramis would become too unsteady, a hand on his thigh to let him know he was there. Now they wasted no time in getting up to the glade, dismounting their horses quickly. D'Artagnan took care of the four-legged, as Porthos carefully helped Aramis out of the saddle, half carrying him over to some of the trees, putting him down into the soft grass, sitting down next to him. Aramis leaned against Porthos, his head lulling to the side to rest against Porthos' broad shoulder as Porthos shifted to give Aramis a comfortable position.

Aramis didn't say anything, he knew there was no need for him to, and he was just too tired to speak. He couldn't control it, one minute he felt fine and the next one he was just falling asleep. But right after waking up this had happened every hour, he could barely leave the bed cause he just kept falling back asleep. Now at least he had been up half the day before his body told him to rest. He knew it would pass, it was just a side effect of having been sick, but it was such an _annoying_ side effect.

He didn't have the energy to think about that now though. He was leaning on Porthos, and he closed his eyes and rested his head back, breathing heavily.

"Rest now 'Mis." Porthos mumbled, a big hand on top of Aramis' shoulder as Aramis happily obeyed and drifted off to sleep within an instant, knowing he was safe in this embrace.

* * *

**_So, anyone want to take a guess at what Athos' hidden skills are? The answer will of course come in an upcoming chapter! _**


	14. Chapter 14

**Wow guys, thank you all for your feedback! Blew me away! When it comes to guessing Athos' skills.. Well I won't tell you just yet, but there might be someone guessing about right… Or yet again, maybe not! There are also some great ideas among your guesses, hehe!**

**Anyway, here's the next one! And yeah, I _love_ writing flashbacks. I did have to rewrite the years a little from an earlier chapter (where Aramis talks of Belle) just to make _that_ flashback fit better with this. But that's how it goes when I just write chapter to chapter without actually having a plot, a plan, a beginning nor and end to anything I do… I love watching a story just develop as I go along.**

* * *

**Fourteen**.

"How did you guys come to join the regiment?"

D'Artagnan's eyes were locked with Porthos', who was riding next to him on the wide path. Though they all knew the question had been raised to all of them.

"Aramis joined first." Porthos answered, looking back over his shoulder at his brother who was riding behind him, more awake than earlier.

"I travelled to Paris after I'd been in Spain for years." Aramis nodded. "In difference from all of you, I travelled to Paris with the mission of becoming a Musketeer. I had been traveling for years, all through France, Germany, even England, in search of Isabel, but I never did find her. Well, you know, until…"

Aramis words died out as sorrow crept into his mind.

"I'm sorry." D'Artagnan felt guilt hit his chest. "I didn't mean to bring up bad memories. We'll talk about something else."

"No, it's… It's all right." Aramis said, stretching his back carefully as he sat deeper into the saddle. "While traveling, money was running short. I managed to find lodging easily as I went, that has never been much of a problem, but it takes a lot of money to constantly be on the road. So I sold my sword and pistol wherever I could make money. It turned out to be good practice, and I always strived to get better. But I was just traveling the lands with no point of direction and would probably still be on the road… If I hadn't met Marsac."

* * *

_"Are you coming with us?"_

_Aramis looked up to find the face to the voice, which had spoken in Spanish above him, and craning his neck he could see a man standing by the rail of a big ship, dressed in leather trousers and black linens. He had a hat on his head, and a sword around his hip. His long curls were tucked up into a pony by a string, and his hands rested on his hips._

_"What's your heading?" Aramis asked. He didn't really care about the answer – he'd travel anywhere, but it was always good to know where he was sailing. That was why he was at the docks that day, trying to find a ship that would take him somewhere._

_"Spain." The answer was short and to the point._

_"How much?" The question was just as short._

_"If you help out on board, I'm sure we can sort the payment out." The man on deck said as a smile appeared on his face. "You carry weapons, and are built like a soldier. That's always handy to have on board. Do you know anything of sailing?"_

_"I'm a fast learner."_

_The man on deck was grinning even wider as he gestured towards the debarkation, the heavy planks working as a small bridge between England and the rest of the world._

_Aramis made it's way over to the boat, and moved the bag he was holding in his right hand over to his left, he gave the man a sturdy handshake._

_"I'm Aramis."_

_"Marsac. Welcome on board."_

* * *

_The trip was short and uneventful. They had sun in the sky and winds in their sails and never met any unfriendly people. Instead the two men had time to sit down and chat most parts of the day. Marsac taught Aramis how to sail, showed him every rope, every knot and happily explained how everything worked. Aramis listened, glad to learn something knew, and glad that this man was so overly chatty, which helped him get his mind off from Isabel, even just for a little while._

_On their last day they sat down on deck, a bottle of rum between them, and a lot of fabric. Marsac pulled out needle and thick thread, and begun mending the broken fabric. Just as he was about to start, and looked over to Aramis who was sitting next to him, leaning back against one of the masts, eyes closed as he enjoyed the sun on his face._

_"Hey, Aramis. Do you know how to mend sail?"_

_Aramis popped his eyes open and leaned forward to meet Marsac's eyes._

_"No."_

_"Then let me show you. It's easier than it looks. And it's a good thing to know. If not for mending your own clothes, then you can use it if you get a bad cut in a battle. There's no real difference between skin and sail."_

_Aramis shrugged even at the thought of having to stitch in human skin, but didn't decline the offer of being taught a new skill. So he hopped over closer to Marsac, and the man showed him a couple of stitches before letting Aramis take over, allowing him to practice._

_"What are you going to do when we reach land?" Marsac asked, being able to lean back and close his eyes now when he sat Aramis to work in his place._

_"I don't know. I don't have any plans. I've just been wandering around for years trying to find…" Aramis had to stop and search his tongue for the right word. "… Answers, I guess."_

_Marsac blinked an eye open. "A girl?"_

_"A girl." Aramis confirmed with a solemn nod._

_"What will you do when you find her?"_

_"I don't know. Talk to her, figure out what happened. Bring her home possibly. But I don't know where she is, her father sent her off and she could be anywhere. I don't even know if she wants me anymore. I always thought we would have a life together."_

_"Look, I'm not out to judge you and I don't know anything about you really, so please tell me if I'm stepping in it, okay? But is this girl really worth wasting your life on?"_

_"Wasting my life?" Aramis frowned, not sure o what the man next to him was referring to. He loved Isabel, and he wanted to spend every waking, and sleeping, hour next to her. He would lay down his life for her if she asked. She was worth everything._

_"Sorry, I didn't mean… What I meant is, you are traveling the world looking for one certain person. The world is big and crowded, what if you never find her? Are you just going to spend your life moving from one place to the next until you drop dead of old age, realizing you've done nothing?" Marsac watched Aramis carefully as he spoke, treading carefully in the unfamiliar territory of his newfound friend's mind. "My mother used to tell me that _what's meant to be will be_. If you are meant to be with this girl, God will put you in her path. You don't have to go around looking for her. Stand still, and he will move you to her, eventually."_

_Aramis heaved a heavy sigh. He had been thinking the same things as well, and he was tired of traveling. He was just 16 years old when he met Isabel, and they had been madly in love, but he only got a year with her before she fell pregnant. For two years now he had been looking for her, and as he was loosing his teen years, he wondered if the rest of his young age would be spent on the roads looking for someone he may never find._

_"What about you Marsac?" Aramis said, changing topic. "What are you up to?"_

_"Ever since I was a little kid, I always wanted to be one of the King's Musketeers. Protect and serve the country."_

_"Are you from France?"_

_"Oui."_

_And after several days of traveling, they switched language from Spanish to French as they realized they had something in common._

_"My father told me stories about the Musketeers, but the ones he told were most likely very exaggerated." Aramis smiled upon remembering the stories his father used to tell him while he was sitting next to him down by the still, the smell of grape- and honey brandy clinging in the air. His father would tell stories of the honourable men in their blue capes and leather hats with feathers dancing as they fought to keep the king's justice. They could slay anything from giants to entire armies, a thousand to one. But as he had said, Aramis was certain that maybe the stories were just a little big exaggerated._

_"My parents died when I was five." Marsac said, his head leaned back and eyes closed still, as he drank heavily from the bottle. "There was a raid, a group of men rode through the city and destroyed everything, killing people with no reason other than the sport of it. I hid under the bed, and didn't come out until everything was dark and quiet. I sat there… I stayed with my parents, I didn't know what else to do. I don't know for how long, it must've been a day at least. I never noticed the men until someone lifted me up and pressed me against their shoulder – against a spaulder carrying the fleur-de-lis. They took me to the garrison in Paris, and cared for me until they found me a new home. And ever since then I've wanted to return. The adventures, the danger, the smell of the battle, but mostly the brotherhood and friendship, the honour and pride. I want to be a part of it."_

_As they parted upon setting foot in Spain, Aramis made a promise to Marsac, a promise of coming to Paris when he was tired of the hunt, a promise to find his new friend. And Aramis was a man of his word._

_It did take another year before he finally surrendered and stopped looking for Isabel. Marsac's words had moved him deeply and he had not stopped thinking about this wise man ever since his trip over to Spain. She would come, God would see to it. One day he would cross paths with her again._

_But in the meantime, he had to live. He wanted to do something with his life, and most of all he was tired of being alone. Finding Marsac again seemed like a fine idea, even if the man had not made it as a Musketeer he was at least good company. He would probably be easier to find than a woman lost in the world. And Aramis turned his heels out of the Spanish heat, heading north. Along the road he found Belle, and after that it didn't take long before he arrived at the garrison in Paris._

* * *

"Marsac was already wearing the Musketeer blue and the fleur-de-lis on his shoulder, standing gallantly in the square with a sword in hand. I was a bit worried that I had just been traveling for weeks to get there and maybe he wouldn't even remember me, but as I rode in, he turned around, grinned and asked me what had taken me so long. And that's how I begun hanging around there… Oh, it was ten years ago this fall. Wow, time really just flies, doesn't it?" Aramis said, shaking his head slightly as he looked over at his friends, before finishing off his story.

"Marsac showed me rounds, introduced me to Treville and everyone else, and we would train together every day. Treville didn't trust me at first, he thought I was a Spanish spy – I guess my French was a bit decayed as I had been speaking Spanish the last year – but that all changed when I covered our king at the siege of Montauban, just a few months after arriving, and I ended up getting stabbed in his place. Marsac stitched me up, and by the time I woke up, Louis was standing next to my bed with a pauldron."

Aramis looked up as he finished, smiling to his friends, and they all returned the smiles. None of them had ever heard the full story before, Porthos and Athos both knew that he had met Marsac before joining the regiment, but they didn't know that it was actually thanks to Marsac that Aramis even did join.

"Wait… If you were nineteen at that time… and it was ten years ago… That means your next birthday is your thirt-"

"Don't even say it." Aramis growled. "I feel old enough as it is."

"Oh you be quiet." Athos pouted, sending Aramis an angry glare. He couldn't even remember his thirtieth birthday. That wasn't as much due to the fact it was a long time ago, because it wasn't more than a few years – it was more due to all the wine he had been trying to drown himself in.

"Oh, I do apologize old man." Aramis said, seriousness striking his face. "I forgot this was a sensitive subject. How are your aches this morning?"

If looks could kill, Aramis would've fallen off his horse and landed in a pile on the ground at that exact moment that he met Athos' eyes. Luckily, Aramis was safe on his horse still, and he rode closer to bump into Athos.

Athos eyes turned softer, and a small curve could be seen on his lips. "I might be older than you, but that also means I will always be wiser. And even when I'm so old that I can not move from my bed, I will still take you in swordplay."

"Confidence. I like it." Porthos howled from the front.

"So how about you Porthos? How did you end up in the regiment?" D'Artagnan asked, still so curious about his friends' stories.

"I will tell you. But first we will make camp for the night, it's getting dark, and it's getting dark fast. And I'm starving! And guess who is cooking?"

D'Artagnan groaned. "This is why I never told you! I could always just lay back and relax before."

"Well things change, my friend." Porthos grinned. His plan was to never cook again.

The four of them stopped as they found another good location hidden amongst the trees. Finding a camp was not always an easy task, and they much preferred staying at inns. It was mostly for Aramis sake, sleeping under the bare sky amongst the trees would pretty much always leave the man thrashing from nightmares, waking up under the moon with his sword in hand. More than once had Athos and Porthos found him standing over them, as if to protect them from danger only he could see.

But his night terrors were getting better, he felt safer, and they had learned how to deal with it, how to help him through it. They would not camp in an open glade, instead they would hide their shelter, build it with bushes and trees until it were almost impossible to spot in the shrubbery. When it was bad – if there was snow covering the ground, or if there were a lot of crows in the sky, they might even set traps. Branches that would give away noise, ropes hidden amongst the leaves that would pull things down – anything that would be sure to wake them up was anyone to approach them without their knowledge.

This night though, they found a great spot, just open enough for them to start a small fire, which d'Artagnan begun, as Athos and Porthos begun making their shelter. Aramis was over by the horses, his fingers trying to sort out Belle's tail, which had entangled on itself, as he hadn't been grooming it as neatly as he used to of lately. The others would usually tease him about it – Belle's mane and tail was usually combed through a lot more neatly that Aramis own hair. He could spend hours just working through the thick dreads of her tail, carefully sorting it out with his fingers, one hair by the time, not to damage it. Horses need their tails, and it's a beautiful part of the proud animal. A heavy, thick tail is like a woman's hair as it's fluttering along with the wind.

Aramis leaned his head towards Belle's thigh, his fingers still carefully detangling the tail, but his eyelids were growing heavy. Belle was grazing idly, but as she felt the weight against her, a nose pressed into her fur, she decided to take a rest, lowering her head to relax her neck and stretch her sore back, happy to be rid of the saddle, and she allowed one of the hind legs some rest as she locked the joint and tipped the hoof up on its tip. As she relaxed, it immediately rubbed off on Aramis, and he could feel his fingers working slower and slower with the tail as he leaned heavily towards Belle's big thigh, his eyes closing shut as well.

It wasn't until someone grabbed onto his upper arms and led him away from Belle that Aramis realized he had fallen asleep, standing, leaning against his horse. Well, it wasn't his first time. They had all had moments of exhaustion where they would fall asleep while tending to their horse. Now Athos guided Aramis to sit down by the fire, above which d'Artagnan was roasting a hare. It smelled amazingly, and Aramis made a mental note to ask him about which herbs he had used later on. Right now, he required some rest, and he rolled himself into his blue cloak, and lay down with his head into Athos' lap, squirming to make himself comfortable.

Athos looked like he was about to question this, and Aramis was truly just waiting for it… But d'Artagnan was busy cooking, Porthos was still up doing the last to the shelter, while Athos was just sitting here, leaned back against a tree, close enough to the fire to get some of the heat, but far enough so you couldn't accidentally roll into it while sleeping. And Athos' crossed legs just looked so much softer than the hard ground, so Aramis had taken the chance as he saw it, and just made himself snug as a bug in a rug into his lap.

Had it been _any_ of the other two, had a mad man that _Athos_ was supposed to watch over at the time he escaped _not_ lighted Aramis afire, and had they _not_ been separated for days worrying about each other, Athos would've just rolled Aramis incautiously out of his lap. But now… He couldn't. Instead he relaxed into the affection, one of his hands moving to Aramis' head, fingers tenderly moving through his hair, massaging his scalp.

"We need to cut your hair, Aramis." Athos noted. "It's thriving like weed in a garden."

Aramis might've closed his eyes by the second he lay down into Athos' lap, his head on Athos' thigh, but he was still awake, and his mouth curved up into a smile. His eyes remained closed and his body remained relaxed as he spoke. "Have you examined a mirror of lately?"

Athos could feel the corners of his lips tug lightly as d'Artagnan giggled next to him at Aramis' response. Athos just kept massaging his skull, the man in his lap definitely relaxing to the movement.

"Rest Aramis. We'll wake you in a bit when the food is done so I can get you out of my knee."

Aramis mumbled something that no one could understand, before his breathing eased out, drifting off to sleep. They all knew he would wake tonight, he would not be sleeping peacefully as his mind drifted back into the past, back into the trauma it once had to live through. Hopefully it would not be too bad, he might not even have a _nightmare_, but even if a dream is not bad, it can still be intense enough to leave you drained upon awaking. Athos knew just how emotionally and mentally drained Aramis would be in the morning, and that was one of the reasons Athos was now granting Aramis the rest in his comfort.

Athos immediately regretted it though as Aramis begun mumbling in his sleep, drool dripping from his moving lips down onto Athos' trousers. '_Great… Just great_.'


	15. Chapter 15

**I'm sorry about the wait, but I did make this a bit longer to make up for that! And I have the upcoming two chapters finished, then it's just the last chapter yet to write! Meaning there will be 18 chapters to this story.**

**What am I to do after that? Well, write a new one of course, heh! If anyone have any great prompts, please feel free to share! I have some ideas but nothing that I could really turn into a longer story. **

**And oh… I've grown up on farms and do love every kind of animal… I just never got the hang of roosters.**

* * *

**Fifteen**

The attention-seeking devil sent from the darkest crypt of hell just wouldn't keep quiet. It just wouldn't. Stupid rooster. They were supposed to scream their throats off when sun rose, to let every farmer know it was time to get up and get to work, but now, it was night, and even early farmers would still be sleeping. Even the milk-cows were still sleeping. It was pitch-black outside, the sun still hours away from the horizon, and the entire forest lay empty and quiet, except for that one damned rooster who just wouldn't _shut up_.

The four musketeers were all rolling in their sleeps, none of them being able to rest properly, every time they were drifting off they were jarred awake by the rooster's crow. They were pulling their cloaks that they used for blankets, over their faces and covering their ears, trying to ignore the stupid bird. They were all huddling close together, trying to bury their heads underneath each other, seeking the comfort of silence.

All of a sudden there was a rush of movement amongst them, and then complete silence. They all figured they should question what happened, but no one could be bothered to move, or even open their eyes, as they all, finally, drifted off to a peaceful sleep.

* * *

"Rise and shine!"

"I may rise but I refuse to shine." Athos mumbled tiredly as he stretched, body sore and tired after sleeping on the ground.

Porthos groaned before opening his eyes. Who was waking him up? Why was that person so cheery? What was- Hey! Is that... "Breakfast!"

Porthos was on his feet within a second, sitting down to join Aramis by the small fire the man had started. A large bird was almost done cooking over the fireplace, pierced on a stick and Aramis turning it all the time to get it evenly cooked. Aramis had a big grin on his face, and Porthos was thrilled to have a proper breakfast. This was way better than fish.

"Where did you get that?"

Aramis looked up at Athos. Oh, always the sourpuss.

"I don't know what you mean." Aramis said with an innocent look plastered across his face.

"Uh-uh." Porthos saw the warning signs. Aramis was giving Athos the stare. And not the '_You-and-me-now-stare_', nor the '_I'll-strangle-you-with-my-bare-hands-stare_'… But the most terrifying of them all… '_I-did-something-bad-but-please-I-love-you-don't-slap-me-stare_'. Athos was one of the few who would ever be on the receiving end of those eyes as that stare appeared. Treville had gotten it once or twice as well, but it was mainly invented for Athos.

Athos was just about to rant when d'Artagnan stretched his arms, rolled over to his front, pulled his fingers through his hair before resting on his elbows. "Wow, that darn rooster finally grew quiet? I didn't think we would get any sleep at all there for a moment."

Aramis looked down at the bird, extremely occupied with it. He didn't dare to look up, and he didn't need to look up, to know that Athos and Porthos were both looking at him with stern, angry looks.

"How many times have I told you not to kill domestic fowls?" Athos growled.

"It didn't seem to belong to anyone, it was wandering the forest all by itself, I didn't snatch it from any farm. You all heard it, it was right here, and there's not a farm in sight." Aramis pouted.

Athos seemed to be thinking about Aramis' words for a while, before taking a seat next to him, his shoulders slugging as he pulled a leg off the bird. "Well then, let us eat the bastard."

Aramis grinned. He knew it wouldn't be difficult to win them over. He had done it before. He just couldn't handle roosters, they were animals invented by the devil. He was okay with every other animal – he would even pick up snakes, but mostly to scare the living light out of Porthos who was deadly afraid of them – but he could not handle roosters. They were just so loud, at the exact wrong hour of the day, each day. The rooster definitely had it coming.

D'Artagnan pulled out some of the bread and cheese from his saddlebag that he had kept close to their shelter, dividing it between them, as well as the bottle of juice still in there. They all happily ate in silence for a while, before Porthos swallowed and spoke up.

"So how far away from Paris do y'think we are?"

"Two or three days perhaps." Athos said, swallowing before speaking. "We could make it in two nights if we keep speed, but the horses are getting tired, I don't want to pressure them too hard. We've been out many days now."

"I'd rather be back a day later than make Belle angry." Aramis mumbled. He knew just how quickly and how far his mare could throw him when she got too fed up with his heels. He looked up as he spoke of her – but none of the horses were anywhere to be seen. That didn't worry him though, he knew none of them would wander far away.

"Yeah, I don't wanna get y'out of more trees." Porthos smirked, looking over to their leader who was grinning widely at the memory.

D'Artagnan was puzzled, and Porthos could tell by the look on his face, so happily offered him an explanation, much to the groans of Aramis. "We've been ridin' hard, and Belle was getting rather tired. When she gets too tired she 'comes a bit grumpy… And usually dump Aramis' sorry behind on the ground. Then he can get back up and ride on, it's like she just needs to tell 'im that she's displeased. This time though, she gave a buck that sent him flyin', and ended up in a tree, how I'm not sure still. But ey, it was a good sight."

Aramis shook his head at the memory, and even he had to crack a smile. He had been just as shocked as Porthos and Athos as they had turned their heads, expecting to see him on the ground. Instead he had been sprawled over a branch, far too high up for his liking, and he had insisted on having Porthos help him down. Porthos hadn't been sure how to help him down, but as Porthos came in underneath him, Aramis let go only to fall a couple of feet straight down onto Porthos. The two of them had immediately fallen into a pile of flailing limbs, and Aramis had explained he needed someone to cushion his fall. Porthos had not been pleased. Athos had rolled his eyes.

"I thought you knew how to fall from great heights." D'Artagnan said plainly, trying to hide the smirk that he could feel tug at the corners of his mouth. He hadn't been with the group for that long, but he had lost count of the times he had heard stories of Aramis escaping through windows. He had remembered his own jump out of a window on his first night in Paris, when he had been accused of killing Raul Mendoza. It had not been one of the best of mornings, and those ribs had been sore for quite the time after the fall. He had tried to get Aramis to teach him what he did wrong, but Aramis had stated that he feared d'Artagnan would break every bone in his body if he tried jumping from windows. '_Fragile young Gascon_' was words that had been uttered more than once.

"I've had training. And I've learned that it's best if you can fall onto something soft. Like our big, strong, bear Porthos here - great cushion you are." Aramis grinned from ear to ear, as he patted Porthos on the shoulder, earning an angry glare from the man.

"Yeah, I learned that day never to walk below Aramis as he's hangin' from something. Best is to pull a cart of hay or similar underneath 'im."

"A cart of manure would only be fair. It is soft, for sure." Athos mumbled, earning an angry look from Aramis and a happy laugh from Porthos and d'Artagnan.

"I don't like where this is going. We should change subject." Aramis pouted, as he pulled off more meat from the bird.

"Y'don't like it when we speak of your ladies? Or are you just gettin' upset that Charlotte Mellendorf left?" Porthos asked, grinning, as he gently punched Aramis' arm. Aramis swatted him away, a smile across his face but all of his friends could straight away see that it didn't reach his eyes. There was sadness there. Porthos immediately frowned.

"You okay?"

Aramis nodded, occupied with the bird over the fire. "I'm fine."

"Goodbyes are difficult." Athos added, knowing that Aramis reaction had nothing to do with Lady Mellendorf, and trying to help his friend out. He wanted to tell their secret to Porthos and d'Artagnan so bad, but couldn't – for all of their safety. Were anything ever to come out into the open, it would be better for Porthos and d'Artagnan if they hadn't known. Or at least that was what Aramis and Athos kept telling themselves. For now, it was better if their two friends just thought that Aramis had seduced Lady Mellendorf, _not the Queen of France_.

Aramis looked up at Athos, a grateful smile that did indeed reach his eyes. The year had been a difficult one for him, starting with him finding out that Adele had been killed by the cardinal. Upon getting his pistol back from the maid, he had feared the worst, and that was one of the rare occasions when he had ignored all of Athos' orders, tacked Belle and ridden out to the Cardinal's Country Estate. Only to find out that Adele hadn't showed there. He was looking for her for days, out riding through the woods between Paris and the estate until his friends had caught up with him. Not being able to bring Aramis home, they had spent a week together looking for Adele… Until they found her, shot to death and left in the cold, frozen ground for the crows to feast on.

He had swore to kill the Cardinal, but his brothers had stopped him, grounded him and promised to help him bring the Cardinal to his knees. But not by attacking him physically, they knew they would all get hanged before they even had time to attack. Instead their plan had started to take shape, a plan that would take them months to finish, but in the end, was so much more rewarding than just pierce the man with a sword.

The end had been a good one, literally bringing the Cardinal to his knees, but it had not been without hurt. Aramis was starting to question the life of his heart as this year had passed – Adele, Agnes, Isabel… and Anne. He had been heartbroken upon finding Adele. He had never meant to fall in love with Agnes, and he had been sad to see her go even if he knew it was the best thing for her, and her little boy. Then he came across Isabel… He had searched for her for half of his life, and he barely had time to say _hi_ before she died in his arms. And then he fell in love with the Queen, a woman he could never claim as the love of his life, someone he could never be with without risking his own life – and hers.

He never meant to fall in love with her, it just sort of happened. He could not tear away from her, and he knew the feeling was mutual, she had told him so herself. But they would never be together, it could never happen, so he would just have to stand guard and watch her grow. Why would his heart set out for the wrong women, why could he not just let some of them slip past him? He had never been interested in loving another since Isabel, until he met Adele. And then it went downhill from there. He had been with women a lot, but staying in their bedrooms was something completely different from love. And he didn't know what to make of it anymore. Truth be told, love scared him. _Loving someone_ scared him.

It felt like he wouldn't be able to love a woman without killing her. Adele had died because of him… and so had Isabel. They had both been safe and content with their lives before he arrived and they died. And that was the main reason to why he, every day, feared that his secret with Anne would be found out, and she would be killed too, because of him. He wasn't sure he would be able to go through the loss of another love. At least Athos knew, so he didn't have to carry the burden all by himself, but in the same time that scared him just as much, fearing that he would lose Athos too in case anything was revealed.

"I didn't realize she meant that much to you." D'Artagnan said quietly, breaking the silence and making Aramis snap his head up. Wait – whom was he talking about? _Anne?_

"Me neither, sorry." Porthos mumbled, a hand on Aramis' wrist, squeezing it carefully. "We never did know the two of you got together."

Aramis must've looked confused, he had been so deep into his own thoughts that he could not for his life remember whom they had been talking about. Not Anne. They didn't know about Anne. Athos wouldn't have told them, no one knew about…

"Lady Mellendorf was a charming woman." Athos said firmly, once again meeting Aramis eyes, sensing his confusion and helping him out before he said anything rash.

"She was for sure." Aramis nodded in agreement. Honestly, he never even talked to her. But it was safer for everyone involved if they kept on believe that…

D'Artagnan and Porthos kept looking back and forth between Athos and Aramis, knowing the two of them were hiding something but not wanting to pry. They knew the two men would tell them if they could, and it would most likely come up at some point. Right now, the tension was so thick you could cut it with a dagger, and they all felt a great need to change the subject once more.

"So, Athos, what is your expert skill?" D'Artagnan asked, and Athos twirled his head, staring at the rookie with an angry glare. The other three men were suddenly grinning widely.

"I'll show you my skills with a sword if you don't stop nagging me about that." Athos mumbled angrily. D'Artagnan put his hands up in surrender, knowing that if they just spent time together, he would be able to pry it out of this man. He had been able to get a lot of secrets out of him the last year, and if he could get all of Athos' dark past with his wife and family out of him, he surely could get a skill out in the open.

He just didn't think he would witness it first hand the very same evening.

* * *

They arrived at an inn around dinnertime, a few hours of sunlight still left before the night would arrive. D'Artagnan and Porthos dealt with the horses as Aramis and Athos walked inside to find someone who ran the place. There was a small reception right inside the door, and on the chair behind it was a little girl sitting, probably not much older than five. She had a dress on, her dark curls coming down to her shoulders and a pair of the biggest brown eyes the pair had ever seen. She saw the men enter and she smiled delighted.

"Musketeers!" Her eyes were glimmering at the sight of them, and she immediately stood up on the chair and leaned over the desk to get closer to them. Athos and Aramis smiled at the girl and her enthusiasm as they walked up to her, Aramis putting his elbows down on the counter and leaned forward.

"Hello there. My name is Aramis, and this is Athos, what may your name be?"

The girl straightened her back, before making a small bow. "My name be Mademoiselle Julie Villeneuve."

"A beautiful name for a beautiful woman." Aramis smiled, making the girl giggle, in the same time as a woman came around the corner, seeing them, and walked up behind the little girl. She grabbed the girl by the armpits and put her down on the floor, shooing her off.

"Hey gentlemen. My name is Madame Villeneuve, and welcome to our inn. Are you in need of a room for the night?"

"Yes, please." Athos said gently. "We have two friends out by the stable as well."

"We only have rooms with two beds in them, and most of them are full up. Are you okay to share beds?"

"I'd never mind sharing a bed." Aramis grinned, his eyes glimmering forcing the landlady to blush. Athos rolled his eyes and elbowed him in the side. The woman giggled slightly before giving them a key.

"Come with me, I'll show you to your room."

_Madame_ moved around the counter and was just about to run up to the room when Julie appeared again, standing in front of her mother.

"Mère, can I show them up please?"

It looked like her mother was about to say no, but then she looked over into the dining hall which was crowded with people, and she could see a couple of servings girl working fast at their feet trying to please all hungry men. This was also the same time two other men walked in through the door, looking for rooms as well… And the noise of crying babies could be heard from a backdoor. Sighing, she gave her daughter the key and a quick nod before scurrying off.

The girl smiled happily before she tucked her hand into Athos' palm and pulled him along with her. Athos was too stunned to do anything else but follow her, and Aramis laughed as he saw the panic in the man's eye. They were all completely at loss when it came to children, but Athos had even said on numerous occasions that they frightened him. '_They don't follow orders and you never know which way they will turn. One moment they are over there… and then the next they are nowhere to be found. How do you plan ahead with a child?' _

'_You don't.' _Had been Aramis answer. And he was very much enjoying the sight in front of him as Julie was still holding Athos' hand as they made their way up the stairs, and she was babbling on with words Athos just pretended to hear. Even though Aramis could see how uneasy Athos was, Julie never did seem to notice it. Athos might be tense, but his quiet exterior had a calming effect on most children and animals, and Aramis had witnessed many times how Athos would walk up to a panicking horse and stop it by just putting a hand on it's forehead.

Julie guided them to a room, unlocked the door with a big key and then gave it to Athos, who gave a short bow in thanks. They had thought Julie would leave them when they had arrived here, but she didn't seem to have any plans on just doing that. So she skipped inside, jumped up and sat down in one of the beds, a big smile on her face as she watched the men walk inside.

Athos looked over to Aramis, his eyes wide and questioning, but Aramis just smiled and patted his shoulder. "Let's muse her for a while, she's probably just bored. She will be tired and ready for bed soon anyway."

Athos didn't say anything, but let Aramis guide them into the room. Aramis put his hat down on the table and unbuckled his weapons to put them away as well, then pulled off his doublet. Athos followed his actions, while the girl stayed seated on the bed with her legs dangling.

"Are you on your way to Paris?" She suddenly asked, and Aramis walked over to her and jumped down into the bed next to her, making her squeal in delight as she bounced.

"Yes, we are on our way home to Paris." Aramis nodded as Athos just shook his head, pouring water up into a wide bowl, his focus on the task at hand but continuing to listen to Aramis and Julie.

"Where have you traveled from?"

"We've been to Saint-Nazaire."

"To fight some criminals?" Julie's eyes were wide and shimmering, she apparently found this very exciting.

"Something like that, yes."

"Did you win?"

"We always win."

"Do you? Really?" The shimmering eyes had turned into a look of distrust, putting her small head to the side and raising and eyebrow in question.

"We do." Aramis grinned, fingers reaching up to pinch the girl's nose lightly. "We are after all, the King's Musketeers."

The grin on the girls face was wide and happy, and it turned even wider as footsteps was heard outside, and d'Artagnan's head looked in through the door.

"Here you are!"

D'Artagnan walked inside, discharging his weapons and doublet as well, Porthos booming in the following moment doing exactly the same. They were both laughing at something, but quieted down as they saw the look on Athos' face. He was completely occupied with the small mirror in front of him, the bowl of water and the dagger in his hand, trimming his beard, which was a very necessary task. But both d'Artagnan and Porthos had stopped by the look of him, it was not him trimming his beard that was out of the ordinary picture. It was the look of worry on his face that made them stop.

And upon hearing a small giggle behind them, they both turned around to see Aramis sitting in one of the beds with a small girl standing up in the bed next to him, a hand on his shoulder as she whispered something in his ear. Aramis grinned in response and pointed over towards his friends.

"The lad is d'Artagnan. He is a great cook. And the big one is Porthos. Don't play cards with him."

* * *

**_Okay, so next up is Athos' skills… Are you ready for it? _**


	16. Chapter 16

**Well, since you are all so very anxious to figure out what Athos' skills are! Here you go! :) **

* * *

**Sixteen**

The four men were still in the room, with Julie still on Aramis' knee, when there was a knock on the door and it opened shortly thereafter to reveal the innkeeper, Madame Villeneuve. She looked around until she saw her daughter, still on the bed next to Aramis, with his hat way down over her ears and eyes.

"Julie. Come with me, please leave the men at peace."

"But mother, I want to stay here and hear their stories." Julie pleaded, as Aramis lifted the hat off her head. Julie then turned on the same secret weapon as d'Artagnan had - the doe-eyes. It was a look hard to say no to, but her mother had apparently had training in this matter.

"I'm certain their stories are of honour and courage, but should not be listened to by a five year old girl." The woman said gently, her head in a bow to the men before she turned to her daughter. "Come on now, hurry up."

Julie pouted, but didn't disobey her mother. She jumped down from the bed and hurried out of the room. Madame turned to the men. "I'm sorry about her, I hope she hasn't been an inconvenience. My brother was a Musketeer before he married, she's grown up with the stories."

"She's a sweet girl, you have raised her well. I assure you her company has been most pleasant." Aramis smiled as the others agreed in a nod. Madame bowed once again before leaving the room and closing the door behind her.

"You're good with the child, Aramis." D'Artagnan grinned.

"What can I say? Everyone loves me."

"Not unless you do something about that beard." Athos smirked as he handed Aramis the dagger and mirror. He was done with his own beard, and then Porthos had dealt with his. D'Artagnan was absently rubbing his cheek, his fluff still not wild enough to be in need of a trim. Aramis rolled his eyes before taking the dagger from Athos, beginning to shave his cheeks with a skilled hand.

"I never know what to say to children." Athos sighed, his forehead deep in frown. Everyone had once believed him to be the best with the youngsters, he did after all have a baby brother once, but they had realized that the two of them never really played around as kids.

"You can say anything to them. Just… no blood and scary things, okay?" D'Artagnan offered.

"So what else is there?" Porthos grinned.

Athos nodded in approval, as they watched Aramis finish off his beard, leaving a perfect line along his jawbone, and of course the moustache. He wiped his face off with a damp towel, before looking up and grinning widely to d'Artagnan, who pouted.

"One day my beard will outgrow all of you."

The snort of air coming out of Athos' nose was the closest thing to a laugh they had heard in… ever, actually. Aramis and Porthos happily laughed as Porthos clapped a big hand down on top of d'Artagnan's shoulder.

"Sorry lad, that won't happen. But a beard will come. I mean, mine didn't start growing before I hit my adolescence either."

"Not funny." D'Artagnan pouted. "But at least I'm not all stubbly and annoying when kissing a girl."

"I've never had any complaints. But I only kiss women though, not girls." Aramis grinned as he got up on his feet, went over to his saddlebag and pulled out his little 'emergency kit', the one he always carried on him in case someone would get hurt. He pulled out a pair of scissors from it, which he put on the table, before he grabbed a bucket of water standing by the door, and put it closer to Athos. He then leaned against the table, tired, even from the short movements. They all looked up at him, worry in Porthos' and d'Artagnan's eyes, while Athos' eyes mostly looked annoyed.

"Aramis, there is no need for this."

"Yes, it certainly is. Now dip." Aramis panted as he worked to control his breath, smiling through it. Athos sighed, not being one to say no to Aramis, and he dunked his entire head into the bucket of water, not very different from his morning routines after a night of heavy drinking. As he sat back to his chair, Aramis was suddenly behind him with a comb and the pair of scissors, and begun working his way through Athos' unruly hair.

"Your hair actually reaches your shoulders." Aramis noted. "Like a proper little lady." The comment was answered by Athos shrugging his shoulder, while the comment had earned a laugh by d'Artagnan. Aramis looked up sternly to the younger one. "Oh, don't believe that you're leaving this room without a haircut either. Your hair might be looking a little bit less dishevelled than Athos', but it's definitely grown too long. We will have to take care of that as well."

"What about your own hair?" Athos said, raising an eyebrow as he tried to look behind him, to no good use of course.

"Oh I will deal with this too. At least my charming locks make it look better than your bird's nest."

"Nothing wrong with my hair." Athos muttered, before being jerked back by Aramis swift hands pulling his hair. "Aouch!"

"Sorry, fingers got entangled, my bad!"

Athos mumbled something incoherent and Aramis let it slide as he looked over to d'Artagnan and Porthos. D'Artagnan hadn't stopped pulling his fingers through his hair since Aramis said it would be cut shorter.

"Oh, don't worry lad, I would never cut it short, just… It doesn't have to reach your waist."

"So Porthos is the only one to get out of this hair saloon business?" D'Artagnan answered him, his fingers still running through his thick hair.

"Aramis won't touch my hair again. He's no good with it."

"Too curly. I don't know how to deal with those curls." Aramis nodded. He had tried to cut Porthos' hair once when it had outgrown itself but it had looked terrible, so he left Porthos in the hands of more skilled hairdressers instead. The black curls Porthos had inherited from his mother was just out of his league.

"So Aramis is not only our seamstress, he's our hairdresser too? Why bother? I can see you do your own hair to keep neat and trimmed but why does it bother you that my hair is long?" D'Artagnan asked, still with his fingers running through his black hair.

"The women doesn't like it when the man's hair is longer than their own." Aramis grinned, wiggling an eyebrow.

"I doubt that Athos will approve of female company just because he got a haircut?" D'Artagnan questioned, confused to what Aramis actually meant. Athos raised his glass in salute before explaining it all to d'Artagnan.

"No my hair will not change my sights on love. But what Aramis is referring to is that _his_ women won't approve of _my_ hair. And since Aramis is always seen together with us, we all have to look our best to fit _his_ image. And it's easier to convince me to cut my hair than for him to find new friends."

"Athos is right. I have worked hard to get you to where I want you, breaking in new friends just takes too long time." Aramis agreed with a nod, while pulling his fingers gently through Athos' hair - which by now was a lot shorter – before declaring himself done. He then met d'Artagnan's eyes, and pointed over to the same bucket. It was easier cutting someone's hair when it was wet. And he would always make sure his men looked their best. After all, who could be bothered finding new friends when he already had the best he could possibly have?

* * *

After all of them had cleaned up both their facial hair and the hair on top of their heads, they cleaned off with some hot water and soap, Athos gently tended to Aramis still sore back, before they got dressed in some cleaner clothes, and donning leather and weapons again, never knowing when they would be in need of it. They made their way downstairs and noticed that there was still quite a bit of people there, but not as much as it had been upon their arrival, and food was still being served.

"I will tend the horses. You go ahead and take a table." Athos said, putting his hat on his head before exiting the inn, as the other three nodded and took a table in a corner, ordering food and drinks.

Athos walked outside, the evening beginning to cool out, but happily not as cold as it could be during the nights in wintertime. He loved the summers, even though he would burn his skin raw. It was still better than trying to fight in eight layers of clothes. At least you never got nicked, the swords would never go through all of those layers. But being so padded that you can't put our arms down towards your sides always made it more difficult.

And speaking of nicked, Athos' ears suddenly picked up on something, and the following second, his dagger was in his hand as he parried a sword coming at him. He pulled out his sword as well, and a short fight later, d'Artagnan could find himself lying on his back in a cart of hay, with Athos' sword towards his injured side – without touching it of course. D'Artagnan was scowling as Athos sheathed his sword and dagger, and offered a helping hand out of the cart.

"You need to stop this before I hurt you." Athos mumbled as d'Artagnan's hand went to his side, clutching it as he tried to catch his breath. "I don't want you further more injured than you already are."

"I'm fine. And I will win the bet."

Athos smiled gently, putting his head to his side as he met the youngster's eyes. Oh so naïve. "You keep telling yourself that. But please, I don't mean to hurt you, so please don't make me do it by mistake."

D'Artagnan just shook his head, his much-shorter-hair jumping around his ears. "I will be fine."

Athos just gave him a wave of dismissal with his hand, before turning his back on the youngster, and headed out to the stables. He thought for a second that d'Artagnan would follow him and try again, but apparently he had some sense in him to go back to the dining hall.

Athos entered the stable and walked over to their horses, and he was stunned as he saw Roger's door open. He was instantly on his guard, worried that someone had done something to his horse. He could see Roger's back, but the horse did not lift his head up to greet him as he usually did, and Athos could feel his stomach roll… Had someone hurt his beloved friend? Had someone given him something, or cut a tendon off with a dagger? Had someone…

He deadpanned as he rounded the corner and got a full view of his horse. Sitting in a pile of hay was Julie, the innkeepers' daughter, and she was completely leaning against Roger's head, her head resting against his forehead and her small hands holding onto his ears, as he had tucked his muzzle down into her lap. Both of them had their eyes closed as Julie was humming a song. Athos couldn't help but to grin, his other so noble and stoic stallion that would never let anyone else deal with him without at least trying to make a fuzz about it, was totally in love with this little girl who had found him. Athos usually pulled children away from Roger, as the horse seemed to dislike the noisy children even more than Athos himself – but this girl certainly was something extraordinaire.

"Hello there." Athos said quietly, not wanting to spoke neither horse nor child. Both of them looked up at the same time, and Julie let go of Roger with a high squeal, jumped out of the hay and ran over to Athos. She put her hand in his again, and looked up at him with those big, brown eyes.

"Is this your horse monsieur Athos?"

"Yes, it is my horse. His name is Roger." Athos said, lifting his hand without taking his eyes off Julie, and placed the hand on Roger's forehead as the stallion walked closer.

"He is so pretty."

"He's a good one." Athos smiled, patting his neck. "And I think he wants some rest."

Julie nodded happily as Athos closed the door to Roger's stable. Athos pulled up a piece of a carrot from his pocket, and handed it to Roger who took it happily.

"Are these other horses your friends?" Julie asked, pulling Athos long to the next stable, where Zad was. Porthos' mixbreed moved at the sound of their voices, and put his head out of the stable, leaning down in an attempt to reach the little girl.

"Yes, this is Zad. He belongs to Porthos."

Julie reached her hand up and tried to pet his muzzle, but wasn't really able to reach. She tried several times before she tugged at Athos' hand, looking up at him with her eyes wide.

"Monsieur, I can't reach him."

Athos contemplated a moment on how to deal with this, before he decided to lift her up onto his hip, much to her delight. She tucked her legs around him, allowing him to hold her safely around her waist, as she happily petted Zad on his forehead. Athos gave her a piece of a carrot so she could give it to him. She held out her hand with her fingers straight like her mother had shown her several times, and then clapped her hands happily as Zad took it from her.

They moved on, Athos still with her on his hip, as they went to check on Belle and Buttercup as well. Julie was thrilled to all the horses eating out of her hands, and Athos couldn't help but to smile at her joy and excitement. While she enjoyed the gentle horses, Athos looked into them all making sure they all had plenty of straw, hay and water. Pleased to see the stableboy had given them excellent care, he could focus on the girl on his hip instead.

As they finished, Julie wrapped her arms around his neck, a big yawn escaping her lips. Assuming the girl should probably be in bed soon, Athos decided it was time to get back inside. Not having the heart to put the sleepy girl down, he carried her back up to the house, and only put her down as he entered the dining hall. She blinked sleepily at him as he pulled his fingers through her dark hair.

"You should go sleep. We'll see you tomorrow."

"I'm not tired!" Julie immediately protested, but another yawn choose that time to escape her lips and she pouted angrily as her body betrayed her.

"Go sleep love." Athos whispered, going down to rest on one knee, pinching her nose like he had seen Aramis do. "And sleep tight. We'll see you at breakfast I'm sure."

Julie nodded as she gave Athos a hug, wrapping her arms around his neck. Athos was thrown back, not used to all of this affection, but wasn't sure of what else to do than to hug her back. As he let go, so did she, and soon she was out of his sight. Athos got back up onto his feet, looked around and found three Musketeers staring at him from across the room. He sighed, knowing he would regret not dropping her off outside the room, as he walked over to his friends, sat down and drowned an entire cup of wine in one go.

"Père Athos, I knew you were good with children." Aramis grinned widely as he placed a hand on Athos' shoulder. Athos did not reply, he only growled with a stern look at Aramis that told him to back off.

Aramis was just about to say something, when he noticed movement by the side of the table – something was being dragged across the floor – and he leaned over Athos to see what it could possibly be.

Of course it was Julie, the stubborn child not ready to go to bed just yet, and she was half-dragging, half-carrying a guitar with her. It was bigger than she was tall, and she was really putting in an effort trying to get it to the men's table. Athos couldn't help but to put his head into his hands for a second, a deep sigh escaping his lips. He would never get out of this now, and he knew he would never hear the end of this.

Julie was frowning by the time she made it to the table, a small sweat breaking out at the top of her neck. She pulled the guitar the last bit, and leaned it against Athos' knee.

"Play!" She giggled happily as she then proceeded in climbing up next to Athos on the bench, leaning against his side, a big happy smile on her face.

The other three men at the table could barely hold back their laughter. Out of all of them, Athos was the most unlikely to play a happy tune on a guitar. None of them could play, but they would've at least not been looking as grumpy as Athos was right now. He looked like he was ready to blow.

But Julie would not take no for an answer, and an angry pout made it's way to her face as her small hands grabbed onto his leather sleeve, pulling at it before gesturing wildly towards the guitar.

"Please monsieur Athos, play for me. I cannot sleep until father played, and he won't be home til late mother says."

D'Artagnan, Aramis and Porthos were all ready to burst with laughter as Athos caved, only their hands towards their mouths holding it in. Athos wanted to get up and leave, but Julie's puppy eyes being just too much to handle. He could not say no to this little girl, it was just not going to happen. So with an greatly exaggerated sigh to demonstrate just how much he did _not_ want to do this, he picked the guitar up into his lap, as Julie clapped her hands in excitement, before wrapping her arms around him midsection.

Athos sent the other men an angry glare as they were now laughing through their hands, none of them being able to look up to one another in the fear of bursting completely, before he turned his attention to the girl, talking as softly as he could.

"Is there anything in particular you would like to hear?"

Julie sat quiet for a second, her forehead frowning deep in thought, before she lit up, and came up with a song she wanted. Athos was just glad he knew which song it was, and he moved his fingers to the tight strings of the instrument, testing its tune slightly before finding the rhythm of the song requested.

The intense giggling of his comrades quickly turned into silenced shock as Athos begun playing. He knew how to do this. He was not just fiddling with the string as they thought he would so awkwardly be doing, he was actually playing. And it was _beautiful_. His fingers moved over the strings with a gentle determination, and he never once took his eyes away from Julie who was grinning pleased. He just knew how to move his hands to create beautiful sound. He had certainly done this before.

And then he began singing. Softly, gently, leaning into the words. And if they had thought the guitar to be beautiful, it was nothing compared to Athos' voice as he sang. Jaws dropped, and they all turned to stare at each other. They had not expected this to come from Athos, not from his lips, not from his fingers. But they all ended up staring at him during the entire song. Julie nestled up next to him, leaning against his side and pushing her face into his jacket, ending up underneath his right arm, which was placed on top of the guitar. Athos didn't stop playing, nor singing, even as she drifted off to sleep, but he didn't look up at his friends either. They all figured that if he did, he would probably stop immediately and he couldn't do that to her.

As Athos hummed the last words out, and his fingers slowly stopped playing, no one around the table said anything for a long time. They were all shocked and amazed, and yes, it does take a lot to render all of these men speechless. But Athos had done it, and he had done it _oh_ _so_ _well_. Even Aramis was choking on the words, silence still hovering the table as Athos put away the guitar, and wrapped his right arm around Julie as she snuggled closer. He sighed, looking up to meet the eyes of his brothers as he grabbed his glass of wine and emptied it.

Still, no one had found words.

Athos sighed, refilling his glass. "Okay. Out with it, let me never hear the end."

Aramis was the first one to find appropriate words, but even as he opened his mouth to speak, it was only a trembling whisper. "Athos, _c'était magnifique_."

"Ey, that _was_ magnificent." Porthos agreed, his voice too just a low rumble. D'Artagnan didn't do anything else but nod.

Athos was so bright red that they were afraid he might just burst from embarrassment. But, a small grin was approaching, and they could all tell he was smiling down into his cup.

Then Aramis found his voice again, and there was suddenly no stop. His hands accompanied him as well in wide gestures. "Athos! Why did you never talk of this? That was truly amazing, it was beautiful. Your voice is that of an angel! You need to sing more often, and the guitar – you play the guitar? You never told us that either!"

Athos hushed at Aramis as his protective arm around Julie pulled her closer to him as she was squirming. His fingers went carefully through her hair, and she relaxed into his hand. Making sure she was still sleeping, he smiled gently at his friends. As his secret was out, he could just go on and tell them.

"My mother was a musician, and she taught me to play several different instruments. My favourite is the viol. The singing… I never trained it, but I've been doing it since young age, I always found it to have a calming effect. I just… I have never done it in front of anyone else before. Except my mother, of course."

"I feel so special." Aramis smiled, his right hand pressed against his heart as he looked to meet d'Artagnan and Porthos' eyes, the two of them grinning widely as they followed Aramis' gesture, covering their hearts as well. This had been such a special moment, and they were happy that Athos felt safe enough with them to be able to share it.

Athos rolled his eyes at their gestures, and had another sip of wine, just as Madame Villeneuve approached the table, her eyes set on the girl.

"There she is…" The woman turned to look at Athos. "Monsieur, I do apologize if she has been any trouble. She's a bit too brave for her own good and she do like meeting new people. She just sneaks out when I'm busy with her brothers. I will take her off your hands, I am very sorry about her intrusion… again."

"No need to worry, she has not been intruding." Athos smiled as he gently shook the girl awake.

"Not at all." Aramis quickly added before the woman had time to say anything. "She's a sweet little girl who brings out the best of people."

The woman smiled relieved as she looked around among the men, not sure what they were referring to but glad her daughter had not been up to her normal mischief. She carefully woke her daughter up, and Julie grinned happily as she saw her mother. Julie stood up on the bench, gave Athos a quick peck on the cheek before jumping down onto the floor, hugging her mother's leg as Athos – Mr Bright Red Face – handed the guitar over to the woman. The mother and daughter took each other's hands, and said their goodbyes as they turned and walked away.

As they left, they could hear the mother lean down and whisper. "Well at least your taste is good considering you picked a group of the King's Musketeers. It could've been worse."

A smile spread across the faces of all four men around the table at that. What a little girl. Not only had she managed to choose them, but she had singled Athos out straight away. None of the other could sing nor play but they would've all done it with all their heart without hesitation no matter how bad it would've been. The fact that she picked Athos – and the fact that he had blown their minds – was just perfect.

"So what you're telling us is that you are a musician?" D'Artagnan suddenly asked, apparently he had found his words. Athos nodded gently. "I always thought Aramis was the musician of the group."

"I've always wanted to learn the Spanish guitar but never done so. Now, when I have a teacher, things will change!" Aramis grinned happily. Playing an instrument usually went along well with the ladies.

Athos groaned unhappily, knowing this would definitely not be the last he heard of the matter.

* * *

_**There you go, Athos is a musician and singer! Some of you did guess that right. I do have a picture in my head of him being a painter as well, just you know, an artist in general. I think it would suit him well. But that will be for another story. Now there's only a few chapters left, but you don't really think the boys are completely safe and happy and emotionally healed right? Cause that doesn't sound like our boys!**_


	17. Chapter 17

**Seventeen**

"Ah-ha!" D'Artagnan shouted as he swung the big stick towards Athos, who barely had time to blink before the stick collided with his face, a sickening crunch echoing through the glade.

"Oh Goddammit!"

D'Artagnan paled as the stick fell out of his hands, landing with a thump in the grass by his feet. His hands instantly went up to grab Athos' shoulders, steadying the man to sit down on his knees as he swayed dangerously.

"Oh.. Oh, Athos, I am so, so sorry… I… I never thought I'd actually hit!"

Athos mumbled incoherent words with both his hands pressed to his face, blood seeping through rapidly, in the same time as Aramis and Porthos came running, their swords drawn, ready to attack whoever had attacked their friend.

"What happened?" Aramis asked, his voice calm but his appearance giving off worry as he knelt next to Athos, gently pulling Athos' bloody fingers away from the face. Porthos was still twirling his _Balizarde_, looking around for enemies.

"You owe me 5 livre." D'Artagnan mumbled quietly as he met Aramis eyes, removing one of his hands and jumping to the side to let Aramis have a proper look at Athos who was blinking rapidly, trying to stay alert through the blinding pain.

"_You_ hit him?!" Porthos barged, sheathing his sword.

"I never thought I would actually land a hit!" D'Artagnan cried, feeling terribly bad for hurting his friend and mentor like this.

Athos raised a hand and placed it on d'Artagnan's wrist, giving it a gentle squeeze, letting him know he wasn't mad, as he followed Aramis finger with his eyes, allowing their own physician to do what he did best.

"Well, it doesn't seem like you have a concussion." Aramis smiled relieved, before turning his head to look over his shoulder, his hand squeezing Athos' shoulder. "Porthos, if you'd please, could you grab some cloth from my saddle bag and go and soak it in water?"

Porthos gave a short nod, before leaving the scene. Aramis took Athos' nose between his thumb and index finger, gently probing the nose, much to Athos' disapproval. The blood was already slowing down, but still dripping neatly down Athos' face, his moustache and beard all splotched along with the entire front of the once white sweater. D'Artagnan silently promised to buy Athos a new one.

"So, this nose on the other hand, is rather broken I'd say. We could let it be, but it will be crooked and that would be a sour sight to look upon." Aramis said, and Athos sighed loudly as he knew what was coming.

"Just do it." Athos wheezed, closing his eyes and preparing for the pain, which did follow a second later as Aramis cranked it hard and reset the nose. Athos whimpered loudly, falling forwards towards Aramis who put a hand on his shoulder again, d'Artagnan holding firmly to his other one, keeping Athos upright as he didn't have the strength to do so himself. In the same time Porthos came back, handing the soaking wet cloths to Aramis, who took them with a grateful nod, pressing them towards Athos' nose, which had started bleeding steadily again.

"Help me lay him down, will you?" Aramis asked, looking over at d'Artagnan who nodded, removing his leather jacket he put it behind Athos, before helping Aramis to lay the man down, his head resting on the jacket. Aramis then shifted Athos who didn't object to anything anymore, rotating him until his feet could be placed on a nearby log, getting them a bit elevated. Aramis grabbed one of Athos' hands, placing it so he would hold the cold cloths towards his nose.

"Rest my friend. Head back. Keep the cloth in place, it will ease the pain and reduce swelling. Will you be able to stay awake or should we stay with you?" Aramis said gently, squeezing Athos' shoulder.

"I could hold your hand." Porthos offered with a smirk, which was followed by Athos mumbling something that sounded very much like '_go away you fool'_.

"Please give us a shout if you start feeling sick, okay?"

Athos nodded and mumbled something more incoherent, and the three comrades let him be by himself as they all stood and walked over to the horses, Aramis cleaning off his hands, drying them on another piece of cloth. He then looked at d'Artagnan before sighing, grabbing some coins out of his saddlebag and handing them over to him.

"Congratulations. You are the first of us who has been able to hit Athos. Well done. If you do it again, I will kill you."

D'Artagnan smiled and let out a nervous, short laugh. He was rather sure that Aramis was actually completely serious, even though the man was smiling. No on hurt any of the Musketeers and got away with it. He might've been given a freebie but he wouldn't do it again. In his defence, he had never in his wildest imagination believed he would hit. Athos was cool now, his eyes closed, but he might be a bit mad later, when he could see out through his eyes again. Well, worst-case scenario d'Artagnan would just have to play the '_Well you shot me'_-card one more time. There was nothing quite so effective as guilt tripping.

* * *

A few hours of rest later, Aramis walked over to Athos who had fallen asleep in the shade, the cloth still in place even though his hand had fallen to his chest. Aramis removed the blood soaked rag, glad to see that the nose had stopped bleeding. It was badly swollen though, and bruises had begun to take shape. That would look neat by the time they arrived to the garrison.

Waking his friend up carefully, Athos moaned and rolled over to his side. Aramis moved, ready to help his friend out if he got sick, but Athos managed to bit back on the nausea, and with Aramis help he managed to get to his feet.

"Can you ride?"

Athos nodded tiredly, and moved over to his friends, who already had all the horses saddled and ready to go. Athos grabbed a hold of Roger's mane with one hand and the saddle with the other, and heaved himself up. He looked over and met d'Artagnan's eyes, the brown eyes full of concern and regret.

"Don't worry, I'm fine. You just proved that I have to work on my defence."

D'Artagnan smiled, relieved that Athos wasn't angry with him.

"Let's go home." Aramis smiled, urging Belle into a walk.

They would ride today, stop tonight and by midday tomorrow, they should – hopefully – be back home in Paris. Their little journey was coming to an end. They were all looking forward to coming home, home to their own beds, the garrison, and everything that came with it. In the same time, they were quite enjoying spending time together, just the four of them. It was always bitter sweet to come home where they would split up to different lodgings, end up on different missions and not spend every hour of the day together. Sure, they drove each other close to the border of insanity whenever they spent too much time together, but no one could ever question their friendship. No matter how much they teased each other, it would never go too far and they would always just banter back at it rather than taking offense. And that's what friends do.

Athos looked up at his friends, and couldn't help but to smile to himself. Their backgrounds were so, so far apart from each other. Aramis had grown up with close relations to the church, d'Artagnan grew up plowing at a field down South. Porthos had been a small time thief from the Court of Miracles, and Athos himself had once been a Count - _un_ _Comte_. Their upbringings couldn't have been further apart, but the twists and turns of life had put them together, and thanks to their different upbringings, handing them different experiences and different skill sets, they made an unconquerable foursome.

Athos knew his life had been a difficult one, and he had been forced to make decisions no man should ever have to do. But he also knew his actions had led to where he was today, and he could not picture his life without his friends anymore. He was certain he could've had a happy life with Anne, and today he might still be living at the estate, Anne with blue flowers in her hair, servants waiting and children at their feet. He would've adapted nicely, for sure, because that's what he was brought up to do, but his heart had always loved the battle, and turning this direction, he did not want to look back. He felt alive in the heat of clinging swords, and coming into this brotherhood had saved his life. What more could he wish for than three brothers that loved him with all their might?

He never did get the chance to live out his life as a devoted husband, nor did he ever become a father, but he did find love. _That_ was something he would never question.

* * *

They reached an inn just as the sun was setting after a quiet ride. They had taken it easy, decided just to walk their horses the last couple of days to keep Belle happy, and now also due to the fact that Athos was swaying in the saddle along with Aramis. Now they were only half a days' ride from Paris but as the sky was turning darker, not only from the lack of the sun but also from the thunderstorm rolling in, they decided it was better to stop for the night than to keep going.

"I really don't think we should stop." D'Artagnan suddenly mumbled as they came upon the inn.

The inn wasn't large, it was just a two stories building with sloping roofs, built with grey stones, located right by a small lake. It looked dark and quiet, but they could see the flickering light of a fire from inside the open doors. To the others, it looked like a rather welcoming sight, and would definitely provide shelter from the rain. Now all of them were looking confused at d'Artagnan.

"I mean… Maybe there's another inn somewhere near by? I don't like the look of this one…" D'Artagnan tried come up with an explanation for his words.

"This looks fine to me, and as far as I know, there's not an inn in sight. The rain will arrive shortly and I'd rather be inside by then." Porthos argued.

Aramis and Athos nodded in agreement, and d'Artagnan backed down, following the men down the path towards the inn. They could all sense something was off, but they didn't continue to question it considering he had folded. They did however meet each other's eyes, and silently agreed to keep an eye on him.

All four of them came to a halt outside of the inn, just as the sky opened up above them. They were fast, jumping off their horses, Athos and Porthos took the four of them into the stables at the back, as d'Artagnan and Aramis hurried inside the main building. Aramis took his hat off as they entered, eyeing the place around. The downstairs had chairs lined up along the wall, allowing people to sit down and warm themselves by the fire. Further inside were tables and chairs set up to a dining area. A bell was hanging by a ladder, and Aramis happily chimed it.

A man came down the stairs just moments later, and was happy to inform that he had an empty room with a big king size bed to offer them. Stew was cooking in the pot and there was plenty of wine in the cellar.

They spent the evening in the dining hall, happily emptying bottle after bottle, and also filling their stomachs with good food. They could all notice d'Artagnan's change in appearance as they had entered the building, but half a bottle of red wine later, the youngster seemed to have succumbed to the alcohol and relaxed visibly. By midnight, they all climbed up the stairs to their bedroom, this time with only one bed in it, and soon all four of them were fast asleep.

* * *

Athos woke up in the middle of the night, his dreams fidgety as always. Something was amiss. He pulled his arm free from Aramis who was wrapped around him, his nose snuggled up to the bend of Athos' neck. Athos rubbed the hand through his face, immediately regretting it as he jarred his nose. Blinking away the pain, he then opened his eyes fully and looked around as a throb was felt inside his stomach. Something was wrong… He looked over his shoulder. Hadn't d'Artagnan been cuddled up behind him when he went to bed?

Spider senses tingling, he was suddenly sitting up, he looked over the bed, and his worry grew steadier as he realized there were only three of them in the room. D'Artagnan was nowhere to be seen. His boots, jacket and trousers were still on the chair he had left them, but his weapons were gone. If Athos wasn't worried before, he sure was now.

The lightning flashed through the room, shortly followed by a loud thunder.

He was on his feet in an instant, Aramis slipping off him completely, after a groan escaped the sleeping man's lips he twirled in bed, found Porthos' body and decided he was just as good to sleep upon as his other friend. Athos donned his trousers, boots, doublet and jackets before leaving the room. He peaked over his shoulder before leaving, pleased that Aramis and Porthos were still sleeping peacefully. Surely, he wouldn't need them. D'Artagnan had been drinking a lot more excessively than the he was used to, he was probably just outside emptying his stomach contents. Or that was at least what Athos was trying to tell himself.

Walking down the ladder, the inn lay quiet and empty. The fire downstairs had almost burned out, there were some drunkards sleeping around it, some of them still clutching to the bottles. D'Artagnan was still nowhere to be seen.

Athos walked outside, the rain making him wish he had brought his hat. It pouring down, like someone just opened up the ceiling, and the heavy rain hitting his face made him see white blinding lights. More maybe it was just the lightning? He couldn't tell. Pulling his doublet closer, he looked around, and spotted a familiar figure almost immediately. He was sitting just a couple of steps out onto the yard, on his knees, body bent forward, face in his hands. If Athos hadn't been worried before, he certainly was now.

A few quick strides brought him over to d'Artagnan's side, and as he got closer he noticed the younger man shaking on the ground. Not just shaking, but violently trembling. Athos was on his knees in the deep puddle of water in an instant, sitting down next to d'Artagnan, placing his hand with extreme care on his back. Even though he barely touched him, d'Artagnan's head flailed up and Athos was suddenly staring down the barrel of a pistol.

"Hey." Athos said his hands rose up. "It's me d'Artagnan, it's Athos."

The pistol in his face was shaking intensely and d'Artagnan's bloodshot eyes flickered back and forth, not focusing on anything. It was hard to tell due to the rain, but Athos was certain that d'Artagnan was crying. His breathing was laboured, and Athos was wondering how long the lad had been out here for. His puffy shirt and smalls were soaked all the way through.

The pistol was still levelled between Athos' eyes. _No sudden moves_. One of Athos' hands moved so both his hands were on the same side of the pistol, before he moved it again, closer and closer to the weapon. The back of his hand was soon touching it, and he carefully pressed, to move it away from his face and making sure he wasn't in the line of fire was that to go off. He knew d'Artagnan would never shoot him, but right now, d'Artagnan didn't seem to know it actually was _him _sitting there. D'Artagnan's mind was far off, at some bad place. Athos recognized the signs of a man remembering a trauma a little bit too vividly.

Another flash of lightning. More thunder. D'Artagnan gasped as a reaction to it.

Athos pressed at the pistol until it was lowered to the ground, and he was safe from any bullets that might be forced out of it. He heard footsteps behind him, though he didn't turn around, all his focus was on d'Artagnan. He knew there was no need to worry about being attacked anyway – if there's one sound in the world he knows, it's the sound of his friends. Athos carefully pried the pistol out of d'Artagnan's slightly blue, trembling fingers, and he suddenly released it.

"Athos."

Athos looks away from the weapon at the sound of the lad's voice. It's barely a whisper, so quiet that Athos isn't even sure if he actually heard it. But as he looks up, he meets d'Artagnan's eyes. And they are focused on him, staring at him. His blue lips are shaking, and Athos is realizing how cold the man in front of him is. It's not freezing out, the early summer has been fair to them, but the lack of sun and the heavy rain will make any man cold if spent too long time out. Athos could already feel the chill on his own skin, and he was wearing several layers.

All of a sudden, d'Artagnan is in Athos' lap, before the older man even knew what was going on. D'Artagnan's fingers are curling up into his doublet, pulling at him as the Gascon's head falls towards his chest. He's definitely crying now, his entire body heaving along with the cries of pain and sorrow. Athos' arms are immediately pulling him into a tight hug, one hand across his back, rubbing it up and down as he twirls the fingers of his other hand into the lad's hair. What has caused this?

"Mon dieu_._"

_Lightning. Thunder. _

Athos' flinches at Aramis' choice of words, but he doesn't turn around. He is focused on holding onto d'Artagnan right now, who is trying to breathe through his tears.

"Athos… I… I didn't recognize this place, it was daytime last we were here…" Aramis words was not above a whisper as he walked closer to the two men on the ground, coming up right behind them. "And over a year has passed… But I think this is the inn where he lost his father."

Athos' freezes. That would explain a whole lot.

"D'Artagnan?" Athos whispers, his hands gently caressing the man's skull, not sure what to do to ease the cries. The head pressed against his chest nods. "I'm so sorry. I never knew."

"No' y'fault." D'Artagnan heaves. His tears are slowing down, but his breathing is rapid, way too rapid for anyone's liking. He doesn't seem to be able to catch his breath. Aramis is suddenly by his side too, a knee down into the muddy ground, grabbing a firm hold of his shoulder.

"D'Artagnan, we're all sorry, we didn't recognize this place. We'll ride on to Paris. But first we need you to breathe, okay?" Aramis gently apologizes, his knuckles carefully rubbing d'Artagnan's breastbone. "Listen to me, slow breaths. In… and out. That's right, another one now." Another flash of lightning lit up the world for half a second, thunder following obediently.

Aramis is the calm of the raging storm above their heads and Athos is glad that he is here. That is Aramis' superpower - no matter the emergency, the man can remain focused and steady. When you are panicking, you can look into his eyes and see calmness, and so much comfort. His eyes alone could probably make thunder fade. At least Athos attention is drawn away from the storm as he observed Aramis. His slow breathing is helping d'Artagnan, and the younger one releases one of his hands from Athos' doublet to grab onto Aramis' instead. Aramis takes the hand, moving it to his bare chest inside the doublet and linens, placing it across his own sternum.

"Here, feel my chest, close your eyes and just breathe along with me. You can do it. Let your fingers feel how my chest rise and fall, and breathe with it."

Athos could feel himself relax at Aramis' words, and it worked for d'Artagnan as well, his breathing slowing down considerably by each breath. Soon, he appears to have taken control of himself, but his body is still trembling. Aramis can feel the cold coming from d'Artagnan as well, and the minute d'Artagnan manages to take a couple of controlled breaths, Aramis is suddenly behind him, his arms by his armpits, pulling him up to his feet, earning the smallest of a 'yelp'. Athos gets onto his feet as well, the two of them steady d'Artagnan as he sways dangerously as his bare feet won't take his weight.

Porthos is nowhere to be seen and Athos has a feeling that the man is preparing a bath upstairs, they all are very aware that they need to heat him up and soon. Aramis probably told him to get it ready before moving up to the two of them on the ground. Getting d'Artagnan inside, his suspicions prove to be true as they find Porthos boiling water over the fire, which has been reset with new, dry logs.

"Not too hot. Just steam it up." Aramis smiles to Porthos, as they carry on dragging d'Artagnan inside. Aramis pulls him out of his soaked clothes as Athos get towels that he wraps around the shaking body. Aramis moves down to d'Artagnan's feet, pulling the icicles into his lap and gently begins to rub them in an attempt to get warmth back into them, earning shallow whimpers from d'Artagnan. Athos sits down behind d'Artagnan, pulls his arms around him and brushes his hands up and down his arms. '_At least he is still trembling with cold. It's when the trembling stops it turns really bad._' Athos thinks, something he had learned from experience, and he can't help but to send a glance into Aramis' direction, memories from finding Aramis in the woods of Savoy passing through his mind. He quickly discharge the thought, focusing on d'Artagnan, who actually _is_ trembling.

Porthos arrive shortly with the hot water, emptying it into the tub along with the other water he poured in earlier. The hot and cold mixes together into water just higher than human body temperature, and with some help, d'Artagnan eases himself into it, wincing as his numb legs begun itching and cramping immediately. Athos takes a towel to ease under his head as a pillow, and d'Artagnan's eyes drift shut. They all watch as his breathing evens out, and his trembling figure soon relaxes to the heat.

"He'll be alright?" Athos mumbles, looking over at Aramis who is sitting on a stool next to the young one.

"He will as soon as we are out of here, I'm sure. I wish he would've told us."

"He probably thought he'd manage." Porthos said carefully, the others nodding along. They had all been in situations they were uneasy with, but thinking they could cope they had just pressed on until it all went upside down and inside out. They had learned to tell their friends when their intuition told them to get out, but d'Artagnan was still their rookie, not certain always how to deal with everything thrown in his way. He had appeared alright even as they went to lay down in bed, but the darkness of the night can do a lot to a man's mind. The thunderstorm probably didn't provide any kind of comfort considering d'Artagnan had lost his beloved father in similar weather. Stopping at the same inn had probably been too much for him to bare.

Sitting by the side of the tub for a while, Aramis soon managed to get the other two men to go back to bed, saying he would be looking after the youngster for a while longer before waking him and moving him back to bed. Athos and Porthos agreed, knowing arguing Aramis would be pointless, and they went back to bed. Both of them slept restlessly for the upcoming hour, before Aramis was suddenly back in the room, tucking a sleepy, drained and still cold d'Artagnan into the sheets of the bed, covering him with blankets before squeezing himself into the bed. Aramis pulled the Gascon into a tight hug underneath the covers as they could all hear his tears. Porthos moved his long arm across Aramis, placing it on the Gascon's side, and Athos rolled over and put his hand on d'Artagnan's head, gently smoothing his hair. In the embrace of his friends, d'Artagnan soon drifted off to a restless sleep.


	18. Chapter 18

**Eighteen**

They rode at first light. The paths were covered in water from last night's rainstorm, but the horses didn't mind as they set off early, everyone eager to get out of there as soon as possible. D'Artagnan was fighting his emotions, wanting to say something to his friends but wasn't able to find the proper words. The others seemed to sense this though, and it was Athos who rode up next to him, a hand on his knee.

"D'Artagnan. It's alright to grieve."

D'Artagnan looked up to meet the older man's eyes, which was difficult due to Athos' entire face being terribly swollen due to the broken nose. That fact that his hand had caused Athos to look the way he did made everything even worse, and d'Artagnan quickly looked into another direction. The hand on his knee gave a squeeze.

"Please d'Artagnan. It really is alright, you lost your father and there is no shame in grieving. We are all here to listen if you need to talk, or just keep you company with your thoughts even if you don't want to say them out loud. Grieving a loved one is a natural way of life."

D'Artagnan nodded quietly, taking in the words of his mentor.

"But would you promise me, that next time we put you into a situation like that, that you tell us you are not comfortable with it? I'd rather help you through it before you freeze to death."

D'Artagnan looks up to meet Athos' staring eyes, and he nods. "I'm sorry, I know I should've told you, I just thought I would be able to deal with it… But then I couldn't sleep and I couldn't stop thinking about it. And then I got nauseas and I didn't want to be sick in the bed, or even the room… It felt like everything came tumbling down and I just had to get out…"

"It's okay. We have all had panic attacks." Aramis said gently, coming up on his other side. "We are not angry, and we will never be."

"I knew we had to stop for rest and Porthos was right, there was no other inn nearby so I figured…"

"You could deal with it." Athos filled in the last of the sentence.

"Yes. Because you were there with me. I wasn't alone."

Aramis squeezed his knee. "You are never alone."

"Here here." Porthos nodded, as he was riding in front, but turned in the saddle to look at his friends. "It's hard to change one's reactions to certain things when one has been alone for long… But you will soon learn to cry with us instead of crying away from us."

"I don't want anyone to see me weak." D'Artagnan mumbled, knowing how idiotic it sounded the same moment it left his lips. This time Athos squeezed his knee.

"We know that. And none of us would cry in public, none of us would cry in front of the other Musketeers, let alone the Red Guards or strangers. But we do cry in front of each other, because none of us would judge each other due to tears. We all have them."

"It takes a lot to hold that pride in front of a crowd when all you want to do is curl up and cry, and that's why we find friends to whom we can let our emotions run wild with us, trusting our friends to control it for us when we can't do it ourselves." Aramis added.

D'Artagnan could feel the tears burn in his eyes as the men beside him talked, but this time the tears were of love and gratitude, not sorrow. It was a long time ago since he felt so incredibly _loved_. He was quiet for a long time, and the others let him take all time needed, before he gathered himself, looking up to meet all of their eyes, before whispering out a thank you.

* * *

They rode on for a couple of hours, accidentally taking a wrong turn and doing quite of a roundtrip due to letting Athos lead the way, but none of them were in a hurry. Instead they enjoyed the sun on their faces and the cool breeze going through the woods, just taking in the serenity and each others company. The calm peace of their minds suddenly changed though as Aramis could feel Belle beginning to squirm underneath him.

"Uh-uh!"

Before anyone even knew what had happened, Aramis had bolted from Belle's back, walking next to her, holding onto her reins in a loose grip. The mare flicked her head towards him, and he jumped back so she wouldn't knock him down. At least she never had time to throw him.

"Would you stop it?" Aramis scolded, raising a finger to point at her. "We are almost home!"

Belle wouldn't listen to reason though, and before they knew it, she was pulling him along with her, Aramis doing his best to stop her, but no man can stop a horse who decided to walk away. Belle pulled him along with her over to a glade close by, and she put her head down, beginning to graze. The other men steered their horses over, and made a halt as they sat laughing at the sight in front of them, where Aramis was pulling at her reins, her forelocks, wrapping her arms around her neck, even begging her to pull her head up. She would have none of it, apparently she was on a break.

"Well, I guess we'll stop here the for a while." Athos said, shrugging his shoulders before dismounting Roger, undoing the girth a bit and hanging up his reins. D'Artagnan and Porthos followed suit, and soon enough the four men laid sprawled out on their backs in the shade, arms under their heads as the horses grazed.

"Hey, Porthos?" D'Artagnan suddenly said, something springing to his mind.

"Mhm?"

"You never did tell me how you came to join the Musketeers?"

Porthos smiled as he closed his eyes, thinking through of where to start his storytelling. Aramis and Athos both listened in as well, they knew most parts of it, especially Aramis, but always loving a good story.

"You'll know I grew in the Court, and I never did like it. No bad mouthin' on the Court, there are some great people there, and they make the best of it. I just always wanted to do more than staying there. I wanted to explore the world, I wanted to feel like I was doing something important. Musketeers would often make their way into the Court, but they were usually chased out rather fast. But now and again, some of them would wander into it and not let themselves be spooked."

_… … … _

_Porthos was sitting with his back leaned towards one of the cold stone walls, his eyes closed as he was recovering from last nights drinking. Charon had come across a big load of fine brandy, and never one to question anything, Porthos had helped him rid of the evidence before anyone came looking for it. He was slightly regretting it now, every sound and light hitting his head like the pommel of a sword._

_And speaking of swords… The sounds of swords clashing together cut through his head like a knife, and he jerked his head up – a little bit too fast – only to see five men in black and red cloaks with those ugly shiny helmets on their heads. Red Guards, he knew them instantly. He had never liked outsiders inside the Court, they always thought of themselves better, higher ranked. And maybe they were, but did that give them the right to rule someone else's life? Porthos didn't think so. He was certain that you could have high authority and still be humble. He just hadn't met any men like that yet. _

_Normally he would've walked away upon seeing the Red Guards, knowing from experience that they were not worth the fight. They had been on his heels for weeks after the last time he sent one of them flying out of a window during a brawl. The Guard had nothing to do in that bar anyway, he was just making a mess as he had been searching for someone. Porthos just gave him a helping hand out of there. It wasn't his fault that the bar had been located on the second floor, and that stupid helmet had nearly broken the man's neck as he landed on his head. Stupid helmets were no good use at all. _

_This time was different though, because there was not only red cloaks coming down the alley in hurried speed, there was someone in front of them as well, running fast. That man was dressed in leather, with a leather hat and pretty feather on his head, and a blue cape following him like a shadow. A Musketeer. They seemed a lot better than the Red Guards, more humble, more honourable. They had been inside the walls a couple of times too, asking questions and demanding answers, but in difference from the Red Guards, the Musketeers always paid with coin to hear the truth, not with daggers. Coins were better received within the Court than the cuts would ever be. _

_This Musketeer though, did not seem to be looking for answers at this moment, he was running to get out of there. Behind him, the Red Guards were picking up the chase, laughing and hollering down the streets, threats of what they would do when they caught up with him. Porthos frowned, he had no idea why they were going after the Musketeer, but it didn't not seem fair as they were five to one. Where was the chivalry? _

_They caught up with him fast, by sending a dagger through the air which slammed into the Musketeer's shoulder, sending him flying face first into the muck ground of the Court's dirty streets, just a few feet away from where Porthos was sitting. The man in blue groaned painfully as he tried to get up on his feet, but he wasn't fast enough. The Guards came up to him fast, and they were already clenching their hands into fists, and their boots were ready to kick. _

_Porthos had seen enough, and he rose to his full height, emerging from the shadows, and only took a few steps before he was looming over the Musketeer still on the ground, crawling away with one hand. _

"_And what do we have here? Scum of the Court? Move, dog." _

_Porthos didn't move, he just stood there, one leg on each side of the injured man on the ground, his hands crossed over his wide chest. He knew he looked intimidating, and he could tell the Guards were hesitating. _

"_Five against one ain't fair. And stabbin' someone in the back ain't fair either. So I'm just evenin' out the fight here." _

_He could tell they didn't want to fight him, but their stupid honour wouldn't let a so called dog stand in their way. One of them was brave enough to draw his sword, but he didn't have time to do much more before Porthos grabbed onto the sword by the blade, and cracked it in half by slamming it across his knee. __'Ridiculous excuse for a sword.'_

_He put his foot back down, careful not to accidentally step on the Musketeer who seemed to have stopped moving, before throwing the two pieces of the sword into different directions. He finished off with a wide smile, showing all of his teeth. _

_This was enough for the men to back off, and run. _

_Porthos rolled his eyes before turning around to the man underneath him. He was lying on his elbow, on his unhurt side, and he was staring up at Porthos with a wide grin. Porthos shook his head slightly, the man must've hit his head he thought, before he leaned forward, grabbed the man by his waist and pulled him to his feet. The Musketeer swayed, but Porthos steadied him with an arm around his waist, as he begun guiding the Musketeer out of the Court. He would need medical help, and he would not find it here. The Musketeer never took his focus off Porthos though, still with that annoying grin on his face _

"_That was remarkable. I have never seen anything quite like it before." The Musketeer begun rambling, and Porthos sighed heavily. All he wanted to do was lie down somewhere dark and sleep for a day or three. "My name is Aramis. What is yours, if I may ask the name of my saviour?" _

"_I'm Porthos." _

"_Porthos. That is a name I will remember and speak highly of. My sincerest thanks to you, Porthos, for helping me escape those men. I am merely here in search of a girl missing from her parents, not to start a fight." _

_This made Porthos stop. A missing girl? The Court was full of runaways, but none who would have people looking for them, especially not Musketeers looking for them. And the Court might be full of criminals, but not the kind that would kidnap young girls and keep them prisoners. _

"_Her name is Paulette Lemaire, and her family is very worried. She is only thirteen years old you see, fair with golden locks and blue eyes." _

_Porthos narrowed his eyes. He knew exactly who she was, he had seen her just last night. But he couldn't bring this Musketeer to that place, this man had to have that dagger removed from his shoulder first and foremost. _

"_I might be able to help. But you won't. Y'need to get out of 'ere." Porthos mumbled, pushing the man while helping him upright, until they came to the outskirts of the court. A big black horse was looking their direction as they arrived. _

"_Belle!" Aramis exclaimed happily, and the mare immediately trotted up to them, sniffing suspiciously at Porthos before turning her attention on Aramis. _

"_Can you ride back?" Porthos asked, and Aramis nodded. He was looking paler for every minute, but Porthos was certain someone would help him as he came back into his own quarters. And on horseback, it wasn't far. Porthos gave the man a short bow, before literally lifting him up into the saddle as if he weighed not more than a bag of rice. Aramis yelped a bit, before he found his stirrups and reins, and turned Belle around to thank the man and ask him about the girl again, but as he turned, the alley laid empty and dark. Aramis sighed, and turned back towards the garrison. _

… … …

_The following morning, Aramis was sitting with Marsac and a couple of other Musketeers by the table in the garrison, Treville standing up on his balcony as breakfast was being served. Everyone turned their heads as a tall, darker man came walking into the garrison, shy, distrustful and feeling out of place, but holding hands with a young, blonde, blue eyed girl. _

_And after that, Porthos sort of became their liaison inside the Court, helping them out whenever they didn't want to enter themselves, and in turn Treville made sure he would get fair payment. Aramis visited regularly, but not often stepping into the Court, and the two of them somehow grew friends. And even more miraculously (they didn't call it Court of Miracles for nothing…) the two of them made good friends. Aramis invited Porthos to the garrison whenever he wanted to come, and happily taught him how to wield a sword and fire a musket, but he only ever challenged him to a brawl once, and regretted it for days as he had ended up hanging by his linens from a hook on the wall. Treville saw the talent in the man, and happily welcomed him to train with them, and it didn't take long before Porthos earned his commission after showing his loyalty to King Louis. _

… … …

Porthos had a big smile on his face as he was remembering the first times he had walked into the garrison, and the smile was just as plastered on Aramis' face. It had been a good beginning, and Aramis had trusted Porthos from the start. A man that would step in front of five men with guns and sword to fight with nothing but his bare fists, to protect a man he had never seen before… This was a man who could be trusted in every aspect of life. Aramis had helped him form a new life, and they had _both_ found a friendship worth holding onto in the process.

* * *

They stayed in the glade for hours, before Belle came over to snuggle with Aramis. They took that as a safe sign of her apologizing, and the four men could keep on riding. They talked about everything between heaven and earth as they rode, and by the time they finally arrived at the garrison, dusk was settling. Jacques, the stable boy, immediately took care of their horses, and the men sighed as they sunk down to their usual bench and table. Serge was there in a minute, coming with a pot of stew and bowls, and of course a bottle of wine.

"'Ere boys, welcome back. Captain told me you 'ad some trouble. Eat up now."

"Thank you." Athos immediately replied as the four of them sat down to eat and drink.

"Hey, Serge. We learned on our trip that d'Artagnan is a fine little chef. You should order him into your kitchen for help." Aramis smiled, immediately outing d'Artagnan as the first thing he did when coming back. Looking over at d'Artagnan, the lad was grinning though.

"Oh, I knew that. He's been helping me out since his first day here. Fine chef he is." Serge smiled at d'Artagnan before leaving, who just raised his glass in salute.

Aramis pouted as he looked over at d'Artagnan. Why were they the last ones to know anything about this great skill?

"Everyone alright?"

They all turned their heads upwards as they heard their Captain make his way down the stairs. He stopped at the last step, just taking them in with weary eyes. They all looked tired and raggedy, Athos had two nice black eyes and his nose was a lot bigger than he remembered it to be, but they all looked alive. He looked Aramis over an extra time, last he had heard the man had 'not been able to ride', but it looked like he had recovered.

"As well as could be." Porthos smiled, nodding to them all. Everyone nodded in agreement.

"Did you run into more trouble?" Treville asked, getting eye contact with Athos.

"No." Athos just said, fixating on his glass of wine.

"Then… Did you run into a tree?" Treville asked, wondering what could've happened to give Athos that kind of purple face.

"Captain, we had a bet that d'Artagnan wouldn't be able to strike Athos. Apparently he could. No need to worry though, Athos will go back into looking like his old grumpy self within a few days." Aramis smiled looking from Treville, to Athos. Athos answered him with a sour look but kept quiet.

Treville on the other hand groaned loudly, before putting two fingers down into his money purse, pulling up a few coins, which he placed in d'Artagnan's outstretched hand. Everyone looked up in confusion, as d'Artagnan happily put the money in his purse.

"I never thought he would make it." Treville mumbled. "Athos, I'm disappointed. D'Artagnan… Bravo."

"With all this money I'm getting, I'm saving up to buy Athos a viol." D'Artagnan grinned, much to Aramis and Porthos excitement.

Treville raised an eyebrow, but didn't question it. Instead he changed topic. "So, Bastien is in the Chatelet, awaiting execution. We have been giving him a few days extra, so you could be here to… mourn the loss."

Aramis tipped his hat.

"Now, get some rest, all of you. I'll see you here tomorrow, no later than midday." Treville ordered, before making his exit back up the stairs. Stopping at the top of the stairs he looked back down at the foursome down by the table, and a smile spread across his face. He would never, ever admit it, but he had missed that gang and their mischief. It was nice to have them back, even if he knew he would regret that thought within a couple of days.

* * *

They stayed at that table until it had turned properly dark, and decided it was time to get some well-deserved sleep. Oh, and they would be able to sleep in their own beds, how they had longed for that.

Saying their good nights, they all parted different directions, off to their respective lodgings. Athos arrived at his small apartment, dropping his things in a corner, he eased out of his trousers, boots and doublet, and climbed into bed. There was silence in here, silence he hadn't heard in weeks, and all of a sudden he couldn't help but to feel completely and utterly alone. He missed his friends, their laughter, their jokes and their annoying habits. Damn. He wouldn't be able to sleep now, would he? It was too quiet. Seriously, he was even missing the sound of Porthos' snores.

He lay awake staring at the roof for a while before there was a soft knock on the door. Confused, he got up to open it, only to find Aramis outside, holding a bottle of wine in one hand and a pillow under the other.

"Hi." He said, unsure of what else would be appropriate to say.

Athos smiled, and before Aramis could figure out his next sentence, Athos had ushered him inside. And Athos had a feeling, as one came, another one was short to follow…

Less than an hour later, both Porthos and d'Artagnan had joined them as well, all of them coming knocking not being able to sleep. Athos was pleased that they had all brought their own pillows so he could have his own, and even as he tried to act as if they were interfering with his rest, he knew they could tell he was happy they were here. They finished the bottle of wine as they laughed and shared memories, and as the bottle ran out, all four of them crawled down into Athos' bed, snuggling up close, just enjoying each others' comfort.

Athos smiled to himself. They had been at each other's throats for weeks, but the minute they separated, they just couldn't go on without the other. He loved their company and was happy that they enjoyed his. He never understood why, but that didn't matter. They were here. And they were his brothers. He called them his own. And they were all just such _good company_.

.fin.

* * *

_**That's it! Woah! Thanks to all of you who have followed and favorites and reviewed and helped me through this story. Without you I wouldn't have done it! Thank you! **_

_**This week has been the week IKEA sends out their catalogues to all members in Sweden.. Meaning every single person is getting a heavy catalogue. I work as a mailman and this week has been just mental. **_

_** That being said, I haven't really had time to write, and my weekends are fully booked - BUT there is a new story coming though, one called "**_**Ask Me, and I Will Remain**_**." There will be a lot of Whump!Athos and worried friends and lots of angst and flashbacks, angry people and swords clashing, just how I like it. **_

_**And then, as I love to obey a wish, there will also be a spin-off to this, backtracking what reeeeally happened when Aramis sent out to find Adele (read to chapter 15 of this story again). Hope to see more of you all! **_

_**One for all, and all for one.  
**_


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